


Muliebrity: A Study in

by ThePerk42



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gender Issues, Genderswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:56:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePerk42/pseuds/ThePerk42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James T. Kirk is a man's name. It always has been and always will be, regardless of the fact that James T. Kirk has just woken up as in a female's body. Jim is particularly uncomfortable with his unexpected transformation and struggles, with the help of his friends and his partner, to come to terms with his new physicality. Follow the adventures of the Enterprise as he re-discovers his who he truly is on the course of the five year mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And so She Cast Him Out

**Author's Note:**

> This story was prompted by a genderswap fic about Spock struggling with his new body. I liked the idea, and wanted to see if I could develop it through the point of view of the victim. This is not particularly angsty or serious, but I did want to look at the possibility of someone taking time to come to terms with the fact that their body had really changed. I certainly did not mean to offend anyone with this - I wrote it according to how I think I would feel if I suddenly woke up with a swapped body - I just wanted to put it out there. If I do upset you, I apologize wholeheartedly.
> 
> Also, a warning, this chapter makes a very small, passing reference to blood in the menstrual form.

          James T. Kirk. _It’s a man’s name_ , Jim thinks as he looks in the mirror. James Cook. James Bond. James Armistead. It’s a strong name that doesn’t fit the face staring back at him. He runs a hand over his eyes and then through his cropped hair. He can’t be sure what’s caused the change. He came back from a quick landing on a Calder II, where they had landed with the intention of making contact with the Federation outpost, when hailed by the Admiral. They left the Calder II’s orbit immediately and were en route when Jim started to feel awkward. Not quite ill, but certainly not right.

            He can remember his heart hammering in his chest, sweat running down his forehead and a faint murmuring in his ear. McCoy led him to the sickbay, and when Jim woke, he was greeted with a new body. It didn’t seem right, waking up and feeling suddenly lighter. His weight was centered in a different place; his chest felt lighter and heavier at the same time. His arms felt weaker and his jaw smaller. Something, Jim knew upon rousing, was extremely wrong. Bones looked at him with a mix of shock and horror on his face, some sort of cross between sympathy and confusion. Jim slid a faltering hand over his face, down his neck and stopped just short of his chest.

            “Bones,” he choked - his voice suddenly high and inappropriate. “What the hell happened to me?”

            The doctor waved a scanner in front of his face. “Are you surprised that I can’t explain it, Jim? You passed out, I ensured you were in stable condition, and left to fill some reports. When I came back, this is how I found you.”

            “We need to go back to Calder II as soon as possible,” Jim said, making a quick decision and slipping into the only façade he felt capable of maintaining. “We’ll complete this mission and head back immediately after.”

            “Jim, that won’t be for at least another 10 days.”

            “That’s fine. Duty first,” Jim swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat. “I’m going to my quarters.”

            “Damn it! I haven’t finished doing half of your required tests. There could be something seriously wrong with you.”

            “There is something seriously wrong with me.” Jim pushed the scanner away with a small hand. “I just need…I need to be alone for a while, okay? You can do all the tests you want tomorrow.”

            “I’m holding you to that!” Bones shouted at Jim’s retreating female form.

                     A short trek brought Jim to where he now finds himself, staring at a woman – himself – in the mirror. Something in the air on Calder II must have turned him, and only him, into a female. His distaste isn’t the result of an unattractive new body. Far from it: if Jim were to see a woman like the one staring back at him in the mirror, walking down the street, he would make sure to introduce himself as a Star Ship Captain. This body is a few inches shorter than his male one and a little rounder: fewer muscles and more softness. He isn’t sure when Bones decided to put him into a gown, but it’s for the better anyways – his old uniforms certainly won’t fit this body; though his shoulders aren’t as broad, his hips are wider and his chest is…much larger. Jim knows he is now what most people call “curvy”.

            The problem isn’t that he finds himself unattractive; the problem is that he isn’t himself. James T. Kirk is a man, a man who loves being a man. He likes to look at women, sure, but he’s never wanted to be one. Never. He reaches out to touch the reflection, running his fingers over the cool glass of the mirror along the image of his now fuller lips. _What’s happened?_ Jim has seen a lot of strange shit in his short time on the Enterprise, but even he never would have expected something like this. He stares at himself for a moment longer, unwilling to pull away and deal with the reality of his body. As a reflection, it’s easier to imagine this body belongs to someone else. It’s going to be particularly difficult to manage touching this body, even if only to divest himself of the gown.

            The sound of the door to his quarters sliding open startles him. He snaps his hand back from the mirror and jerks away from the counter. He doesn’t respond, not wanting to hear the quiet, high voice from his own mouth. Instead, he turns and walks into the room silently.

            “Captain?” Spock stands in the doorway, head tilted slightly to the side.

            Jim feels a lump forming in his throat. The sensation is quickly becoming annoyingly familiar and he swallows it down angrily. He shifts his weight once while Spock comes in. “I was just about to change,” he says, watching Spock settle in his usual chair. “How are things?”

            “I assume you mean ‘How are things on the bridge?’.”

            “Yes,” Jim sighs, unsure if he's going to be able to handle his partner's penchant for being literal.

            “They are fine. I completed my shift and thought I would check on you in the sickbay. The doctor informed me that you had retired to our quarters and so I chose to come here to eat instead of joining the rest of crew.”

            Jim warily tugs at the collar of his med gown. “I…Spock…”

            “You are uncomfortable with me seeing you naked?” Spock does a good job of hiding the hurt, but Jim senses the inflection in his voice more than he hears it.

            “I don’t…I’m not…” Jim drops onto the chair opposite his partner and groans, pressing the heel of his palm to his eye. “I don’t know what’s going on here. I’m a God damned woman. Aren’t you a little thrown?” He doesn’t intend for his voice to rise, but it does anyway. He hunches forward and glares at his knees, unwilling to meet Spock’s eye.

            “Of course, I was not aware of your…new appearance before speaking with Dr. McCoy. However, after he told me, I had the entire journey from the sickbay to our quarters to adjust my mind set. It would be senseless for me to display shock upon seeing you as I was already aware of the change.”

            Jim grunts. “I’m aware of it, and I’m still shocked.”

            “Would you prefer that I leave so you can change your clothing?”

            “No…huh…no. I need to go and requisition some clothing, actually. None of my stuff will fit.”

            “Would you like me to stay here while you do so? Or perhaps I should go and eat with the rest of the crew as I had initially planned?”

            “I want….damn it!” Jim struggles to find his words. Here in his cabin with Spock, he is unable to hide behind his rank and title. He can’t seem to pretend and the mask slips through his fingers along with any semblance of control it would have given him. Jim reaches across the table and presses his hand to Spock’s. Their bond is still new and he’s never really been able to convey specific words through a telepathic link, but he hopes that Spock will understand his emotions and know just how badly Jim needs him.

            After a few seconds, he pulls back and looks, blinking, into Spock’s eyes. “Very well,” Spock murmurs gently, “I will, of course, join you.”

            Nobody on the ship has been told about Jim’s change yet, so Spock receives a few curious glances as he walks with his hand on the new woman’s lower back. Jim huffs out a ragged breath when someone winks at him. _Seriously?_ He’s wearing a _med gown_. Spock ushers him into a turbo-lift at the end of the hallway and it isn’t until the door closes that Jim notices someone else in the lift with them. He stiffens and presses back against Spock, whose hands close comfortingly around Jim’s shoulders.

            “Hello, Mr. Hendorff. Deck 21.” Spock says.

            “Who’s your new friend?” the security officer winks at Jim. “Is she alright?”

            Jim frowns, but Spock runs a cool, soothing hand down his arm. “There is nothing for you to concern yourself over,” Spock says.

            “You’re awfully pretty,” Hendorff says, changing his tactic and speaking directly to Jim. “You know he’s not single, right? He’s in a relationship, but I’m not.”

            Jim snarls and leans forward, curling his hands into fists. “I’m not fucking surprised, Cupcake.” The security guard opens his mouth, but doesn’t say anything. After a moment of awkward silence, the turbo-lift comes to a stop and Spock ushers Kirk out the door before anything more can be said.

            “Why do you let him upset you like that, Jim?”

            Jim pulls at his collar once more and shrugs. “I don’t know. He shouldn’t be talking to anyone like that. It isn’t appropriate.”

            “I think, right now, Mr. Hendorff’s inappropriate comments are the least of your concerns,” Spock says, walking beside Jim as they enter the supply room.

            “Always nice to have you around to put everything into perspective, Spock.”

             Later that night, when Jim is trying to fall asleep, he can tell he’s bothering Spock with all of his tossing and turning. “I’m sorry,” he finally huffs, his back to his partner. “I just can’t seem to get comfortable. It’s this fucking body.”

            Spock sighs next to him and Jim can feel a cool foot run, barely grazing him, up his calf. “It is of no consequence. I am not overly tired.”

            “You wouldn’t be in bed you didn’t want to sleep.”

            “I will be able to wait at least another 42 hours. I will sleep after my shift, perhaps, while you are on the bridge.”

            Jim rolls over so that he’s facing Spock and drops dramatically onto his pillow. “How am I going to work like this?”

            “I assumed you would work as you always did. Do you intend to change your command style now that your gender has changed?”

            “Let’s get something straight, Spock. My gender hasn’t changed. I’m just in the wrong body.” Spock moves his arm to turn and face Jim and brushes Jim’s breast, eliciting a sharp gasp.

            “I am sorry. I am still acclimating to your new…dimensions.”

            “As am I.” There’s a tense silence that grows heavy between them before Jim speaks once more. “I’m serious though. How am I going to captain this ship if I can’t even manage my own body?”

            “I have confidence you will be able to command with no consequence, Jim. You are a fine Captain regardless of your gender.”

            “Thanks, Spock,” Jim says, only halfheartedly. “You always know how to make me feel better.”

* * *

            On his fourth day of having a woman’s body, Jim is just getting off shift and heading back to his quarters when something twists low in his gut. He stops suddenly, leaning against the wall, and fists a hand in his shirt, but the tension passes almost as suddenly as it started. He’s been experiencing discomfort similar to it for the last two days, but disregards the feeling as a result of his change. Once the feeling passes, he continues making his way to his room. He lets himself into the room, expecting to find Spock inside but the space is empty. Jim lets out a heavy sigh – half relief and half disappointment – and allows himself to sag slowly to floor.

           The past few days have felt long and heavy on him. A few people made jokes, “I’m surprised you even leave your room!” “How can you keep Spock off of you?” But after Jim met them all with steely glares, they stopped rather abruptly and he hasn’t heard anything more.

            He was reluctant to tell McCoy just how much difficulty he was having with the change – how he was pulling away from Spock, that he could no longer meet his own gaze in the mirror, how he hated the idea of touching himself in any way. In the end, his longing for someone to talk to won over his pride and the doctor listened quietly until Jim seemed to run out of energy.

            “All seems normal to me, Jim. Only 6 more days,” he offered, reaching out as though to clap his friend on the shoulder. McCoy stopped short, though, pulling his hand back and Jim appreciated it.

            There is another sharp twist in the muscles of his abdomen and Jim closes his eyes for a moment. He fists a hand in the fabric of his pants as the discomfort fades. Even as he releases the cloth, he stays crouched in that position, knees to chest, almost folded in on himself. He must have drifted off, because the next thing Jim knows, Spock’s hands are gripping him under the armpits, carefully avoiding any contact with his breasts. “You were asleep,” Spock says quietly, “I did not wish to wake you, but I believe you will want to clean yourself before returning to sleep.” He’s already guiding Jim to the bathroom.

            “Hmmm?” Jim grumbles, still on the edge of sleep and unwilling to fully wake.

            “You have blood on your pants, Jim.”

            “What?” He finally rouses and instinctively pats the tops of his thighs. “Where?”

            “Not there,” Spock says, steering him to the sit on the toilet. “Between your legs. I believe you are menstruating.”

            “What?” Jim presses a hand as high as he’s willing, close to where his thigh joins his body. The fabric is damp and warm, though not thoroughly soaked. He pulls his hand away to find a light sheen of red on his finger tips. “How did you know?” he croaks, unsure of how to respond to his current situation. Everything suddenly feels as surreal as when he first woke, so foreign and unfamiliar: so much for acclimating to his “new” body.

            “I could smell it. I will go to the doctor and request the necessary accoutrements while you clean yourself.”

            “What?” Jim’s vocabulary seems to have shrunken an abominable amount.

            “Do you wish for me to stay? Of course I can contact Dr. McCoy and have them sent here. There is no need for me to leave; I only thought you might want some privacy.”

            “Spock,” Jim pulls angrily at the damp crotch of his pants, “I have no idea what I’m doing here! I’ve never had a period!”

            “Nor, Jim, have I. I am unsure how I will be of any assistance to you beyond requesting the supplies.”

            Jim groans and angrily blinks back what feel like tears. “I don’t need Dr. McCoy,  need a female. Someone who can tell me what I’m doing here.”

            “Dr. McCoy is more than competent enough to handle your questions, Jim, I am sure.”

            “I don’t care! I don’t want McCoy.”

            Spock raises an eyebrow slowly, but nods after a short second. “Or course. I will request a female staff member be sent to the room. Would you like me to…stay?” Spock, who has been surprisingly calm the entire time, seems markedly uncomfortable with the idea

            . “No,” Jim says, rising to remove his shirt. “There’s no need. I’ll take a shower and then wait in here.”

            When Jim steps out of the shower (a 90 second sonic burst) his dirty clothes are gone and there’s an old StarfleetAcademy t-shirt, a pair of shorts and white underpants folded neatly on the counter. He dresses quickly before ruffling his hair and sits, once more, upon the toilet.

            It isn’t long before Spock is knocking on the bathroom door. “Jim, Nurse Briony is here, if you’ll see her.”

            “Yeah,” he says, pressing his thighs together. “Send her on in.” He grimaces, looking down at himself. He doesn’t know if he’s ever going to be able to look her in the eyes again after this.

            The nurse steps in and shuts the door quickly behind herself, allowing Jim only a glimpse of a concerned looking Spock. “Hello, Captain,” she says cautiously.

            “Can you not call me that right now?”

            “Of course, whatever you want. Is Jim alright? Or would you prefer James?”

            “Jim is fine,” he mutters. When he finally looks up at the nurse, she’s the picture of professionalism: a polite smile on her face, looking quite smart in her medical blues. She’s holding a small box under one arm, which she turns to place on the counter behind her.

            “Okay, Jim. How are you feeling?”

            “Humiliated.”

            “That’s understandable. It’s common for girls experiencing their first menstruation to feel that way.”

            “I’m not a girl, I’m a man in a woman’s body.”

            She clucks quietly. “Your hormones are still the same as a girl, and you’ve got to be feeling a little emotional right now. Are you in any pain?”

            Jim shakes his head. “I had some…cramps?” he looks at her for confirmation and she nods her encouragement. “Anyways, I think that’s what they were. I had some cramps earlier, but other than that, no. No pain.”

            “Okay, well, let’s just jump right in, then. The sooner we start, the sooner this will all be over.” Jim nods. Nurse Briony turns to the box and clicks it open. “You’ve got a couple of choices when it comes to what to use, and you’ll need to figure out what works best for you, depending on how heavy your flow is and how willing you are to touch yourself.” Jim winces, but the nurse continues. “This is a sanitary napkin. You can stick it to the inside of your underwear by peeling off the back like this. I brought you some pretty thick ones in case that’s all you want to use. Have you had intercourse in this body?”

            “I…what?”

            “Have you inserted anything into your vagina?”

            “No!” Jim blinks at her for a moment.

            “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. One of your other options is a tampon, but if you’ve never put anything into your vaginal canal, it may be uncomfortable for you.” She pulls out a small yellow package and rips the paper. “This goes inside of you,” she mimes the motion of inserting the tampon, “like this.” Jim blanches.

            “I don’t feel very well,” he says, leaning back heavily against the wall.

            “You don’t have to use one if you don’t want to. Whatever works for you.”

            Jim stares at her for a moment, unsure of what to say.

            “Okay, so I’ll just leave this with you and you can decide whatever you want. Do you have any other questions?” Jim shakes his head; he really is starting to feel faint.

            “Just comm the sickbay if you do, okay? No question’s too out there for me. I’m here if you need anything.” She reaches out and rests her hand on Jim’s shoulder for a moment before turning and letting herself out of the bathroom.

            Jim can hear her talking to Spock in the room as he rifles through the box. “If he’s in any pain, I’ve brought a couple of muscle relaxants for him. He’s lucky he’s got the next two days off shift, he looked pretty sick.”

            “He does not seem to be taking this step of the transition well,” Spock concedes. “Thank you for your assistance.”

            “Of course, anything else you two need, anything at all, just let me know.”

            Jim pulls one of the pink packages out of the box and rips it open before shoving his pants down. The adhesive sticks to his fingers as he adjusts it on his underpants and he lets out a loud whine of frustration before getting the pad on properly. He pulls his shorts and underwear back up in one swift movement and leans forward, pressing his hips to the counter. _James T. Kirk was a man’s name._ He wants to scream.

“Jim?”

            “Yeah?”

            “May I come in?”

            “Sure.” The bathroom door swishes open and Spock stands hesitantly, staring at Jim, with his hands in loose fists at his sides. There’s an edgy silence between them for a few moments while Jim stares at his nails on the counter. “I did not look at you when I exchanged your clothing,” Spock assures him, unnecessarily.

            “I know,” Jim said.

            “I…do not know what to do, Jim. I do not know what you need me to do.”

            “Can you…you know what Spock? Can you hug me?”

            “Of course I can.”

            “I want you to hug me.” Spock steps into the bathroom, closing the distance between the two of them with one large stride and wraps his arms around Jim’s torso, pressing his cheek to the back of his partner’s neck.

* * *

 

             “We’ll be approaching Fendaus V in approximately 3 hours, sir,” Sulu says, pressing series of buttons on his panel.

            “Great,” Jim shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “Mr. Spock and I are going to go and change. You have the conn. When we arrive, assume standard orbit and the shore party will transport down

            “Understood, sir.”

            Spock follows Jim into the turbo-lift. “Jim, I have requested that a dress uniform in your size be delivered to our quarters.”

            “Can we not...talk about this for a minute? Can we just…talk?”

            “Certainly. What would you prefer to converse about?”

            “I don’t know. Anything.”

            “We have not played chess in over five days. Are you aware of that, Jim?”

            “No.” He looks up at Spock from where he’s been staring at his boots. “Why don’t we play a game when we’re done with this dinner shindig?”

            “I would be obliged.”

            “Careful, or I might think you love me or something,” Jim throws over his shoulder as he exits the turbo-lift. He walks briskly down the hall and Spock hurries to catch up.

            “I should hope you thought I loved you, Jim. I care very much for you.”

            Jim shakes his head. “I know. I’m just…a little moody, I guess.”

            “Is it your abnormal hormones?”

            “What?”

            “I have been told that the imbalance of hormones a woman experiences when she is menstruating can create –“

            “God damn it! No!” Kirk turns to face Spock while they stand in front of their door. “Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve barely touched me in the last five days? Or maybe it’s that you don’t even talk to me unless you have to. It’s not all about my fucking bleeding cunt!” A crewman walking by stops momentarily, but speeds away when Jim snarls at him.

            “Perhaps we should continue this conversation in our quarters, Jim. I was not aware that you were upset with me.”

            Jim keys in the sequence to open the door. “I’m not upset with you,” he says, a little louder than he intended.

            “You are exhibiting all of the symptoms. I am also sensing a higher frequency of emotion than I am used to you emitting.”

            “All right, Jesus! I’m upset. I’m angry! I feel like you don’t want anything to do with me and I’m your partner.” Jim swallows. “Aren’t I?”

            “Yes, you are. I apologize for making you feel as though I did not want anything to do with you. On the first night that you and I conversed after you had taken this form, you informed me that you did not want me to touch you. Though you have acted in contradiction to those words multiple times, I thought it best to heed your initial request until such a time that you stated you felt differently. I would very much like to touch you again. With your permission.”

            “Yes! Yes, you can touch me. I just want things to be like they used to be, okay?”

            “But Jim, things cannot be like they used to be. You have a woman’s body now.”

            “You know what I mean,” Jim says, suddenly feeling all of the fight drain out of him. He collapses against the wall and drops his face into his hands. “You don’t touch me when we sleep, you never hold my hand any more, and it’s like you intentionally leave as much space between us as you can when I _do_ initiate contact.”

            “I did not want to upset you. It seems that in attempting to please you, I have done that which I strove to avoid.”

            “Spock,” Jim says, hating that he’s crying. This is _not_ a crying time. “Spock, everything is different in this body. How I eat, how I dress, how I walk, how people talk to me. Everything is different. I just need one thing to be the same. I need _us_ to be the same. Can you do that for me?”

            “Of course, Jim. I will do whatever you require of me.” Spock steps forward to wipe a stray tear off of Jim’s face. “You make a very aesthetically pleasing woman. It seems that, no matter your gender, you are destined to attract me.” Jim smiles and presses a watery kiss to Spock’s palm. Spock runs his fingers over Jim’s eyebrow and down the side of his face. Jim tips his head to increase the pressure and sucks in a gasp just before there’s a knock on the door.

            “Captain? I’ve brought your uniform.”

            Spock snaps his hand away and grips it behind his back.

            “Come in,” Jim calls, his heart still fluttering in his chest.

            The door slides open and an Ensign steps into the room holding a yellow dress on a hanger. “Where would you like me to put this, sir?”

            Jim frowns. He doesn’t want to wear a dress, but this is a diplomatic meeting with a conservative species and command has informed him that he is, under no circumstances, to allow any females on the crew to beam down wearing pants. He doesn’t get to exclude himself just because he doesn’t want to be a female. “You can set it on the table.” The young man lays the garment down and leaves with a respectful nod to the two of them.

            As the door shuts behind the Ensign, Jim leans forward, searching for Spock’s touch once more. The Vulcan reaches out to run a hand through Jim’s styled hair.

            “Bridge to Captain Kirk,” Lt. Uhura’s voice comes over the intercom.

            Jim lets out a huff of frustrated air before stalking over the speaker. “What is it, Lt.?”

            “I’ve just received a communication from the ambassador, sir. He requests that formal attire be worn.”

            “I’m aware of that. We’ve got our dress uniforms ready to go.”

            “No, sir. He requested you wore formal attire, but _not_ your dress uniforms.”

            “God damn it!” Jim pounds the wall with a fist, but pulls back immediately to massage his now throbbing hand.

            “He said, and I quote ‘This is a conversational dinner, not an opportunity for the Federation to parade its pageantry on my home world’.”

            “Get them to make me something nice and have it sent it to my quarters within the hour. You decide what it should look like.”

            “Aye, aye sir,” she says before cutting off the intercom.

            “Could this day get any worse?” Jim asks, turning to face Spock.

            “I find that asking that question is often a way of receiving an affirmative answer.”

            Jim hums and sits down at the table, fingering the yellow fabric of his dress uniform. “So, we’re supposed to be deciding whether or not Fendaus V should be a candidate for the Federation.”

            “Yes.”

            “And there’s supposed to be a feast of some sort.”

            “There is.”

            “And I have to wear a dress.”

            “You do.”

            “How long do we have to stay there? I don’t particularly relish the idea of walking around in a dress for hours on end.”

            “Common courtesy would dictate that we stay for at least an hour after we have finished our meals.”

            Jim lets his head drop into his hands and massages at his temples. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

            The dress is extremely tasteful – Jim makes a mental note to be sure to thank Lt. Uhura in person. It’s made of a silky, black fabric that almost feels like liquid and drapes perfectly over his body. The neckline is high without choking him and the hem just whispers over his toes. The Lt. must have requested jewellery and shoes to go with it, because they, too, were delivered. As Spock helps clasp the necklace at the nape of Jim’s neck, he can’t help but feel he’s going to be a little over done. A cursory glance in the bathroom mirror, however, reminds him that – even if he hates being stuck in it – his female form is particularly attractive.

            “You look exceptional,” Spock says while straightening his own tie. He’s pulled an Earth style suit out of the closet and Jim thinks fleetingly of James Bond and his girls, eating fancy dinners, driving in fast cars, shooting loud guns.

            “Where am I going to put a phaser in this thing?” Jim pats his hips gently.

            “This came with your dress.” Spock holds up a small bag and the word clutch floats to the front of Jim’s mind.

            He reaches out and snatches it. “Thanks.”

            When they arrive in the transporter room, Scotty lets out a low whistle. “Look at you, Captain.”

            Jim feels himself blush, but ignores it, stepping onto the transporter pad with Spock, McCoy and two security guards. “If we don’t contact you within the hour, please beam additional security to our location,” Jim says, clutching his bag (and phaser) to his abdomen.

            “Go get ‘em, Jim,” Scotty says, already energizing as he speaks.

            When they re-materialize, the group finds themselves just inside of a large building which seems to be made of some sort of rock. Jim can’t see the ceiling from where they are and the space is cold.

            “Are you cold, Jim?” Spock asks, already unbuttoning his suit jacket.

            “I’m fine,” he says, watching the dignitaries approaching, “You can keep your coat on.” As an after thought, he murmurs, “Thank you though.”

            There are three Fendauvians approaching, seated on hovering carriers and guided by people who must be their servants. When the group finally comes to stop in front of Jim, he bends slightly at the waist. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Jim grins genially and hopes it’s as charming now as it ever was. “I’m Jim-“  

            He’s cut off by on of the Fendauvians. “Who is your Captain?”

            “I am,” Jim replies, trying not to show his irritation.

            “No, the Captain of your ship.”

            “That’s me.”

            The Fendauvians laugh loudly and it’s all Jim can do not to scowl at them. “I have studied Federation Standard for a long time, young lady. A Captain is the commander of ship, no?” Jim nods. “Then you can’t be the Captain. Which one of these men commands your ship?”

            Jim swallows his anger. He’s supposed to be creating bridges, not burning them. “The Federation allows women to Captain their vessels, sir.”

            The Fendauvian frowns. He looks to McCoy. “She is truly your Captain?”

            “Yes,” McCoy answers slowly, Jim knows his anger must be matched in his friend. “And one of the best in the fleet.”

            “Well,” the Fendauvian lets out a surprised whistle. “Be that as it may, I’ll have no dealings with a woman. Which one of you men would like to speak in her place?”

            Jim lets his hand clench tightly around his clutch and breathes out through his nose. This isn’t the time to be proud, and he knows that. “Mr. Spock is my First Officer. You may table with him.”

            “Wonderful! Why don’t you follow us to the conference hall?” Their guides begin pushing them away, leaving Jim and the rest of the landing party to follow. “Women aren’t usually part to our talks, but we’ll make an exception this once, for you, Captain.” Jim can’t see the Fendauvian’s face, but he’s sure that he’s leering.

* * *

 

            “Ugh, what an asshole. When I lose this body, don’t let me forget how shitty some guys can still be towards women.” They’ve returned from the six hour long visit to Fendaus V and Jim is already taking off his jewellery as they exit the transporter room. He drops the offending articles into his clutch and rubs at his neck – that necklace got heavy after about half an hour. Once in the turbo-lift, he bends to remove his shoes. “How to people wear heels like this all of time?”

            “I do not know,” Spock says, still looking perfectly pristine in his suit. It’s as though he only just put it on. “I have never had cause to wear such a style of shoe.”

            “And you just be grateful you haven’t.” The lift stops and they step out, waving good bye to McCoy as he heads for his own quarters. “We’ve got to file our reports, but then how about that game of chess?”

            “I would be happy to join you.”           

* * *

 

            The next day, after arranging a more expansive meeting with Starfleet and Federation officials, the Enterprise is leaving orbit and headed back to Calder II. Jim is trying not to get over excited at the prospect of having his male body back – he knows it’s not likely going to be as simple as going back to the planet. They’ll have to beam down a landing party and conduct multiple tests. Luckily, they haven’t been given a new mission yet, so there aren’t any pressing time constraints. Still, Jim doesn’t want to spend weeks waiting for an answer.

            Once the ship is en route, he leaves the bridge and calls Bones on the intercom. “What are you doing?”

            “Nothing important. Are you okay?”

            “I’m fine. Want to play a game of squash?”

            “Are you okay to play a game of squash?”

            Jim groans. “Would I ask if I wasn’t? Just meet me in rec. room 10 in 15 minutes.”

            “Aye, aye,” Bones says sardonically, cutting the transmission off.

            After Jim changes in his quarters he hurries to the rec. room to find Bones on the court, waiting for him with a ball in hand.

            “Let’s see if this new body loses as hard as the old one,” Bones says, bouncing the ball a few times.

            “I’m gonna whoop your ass just like I always do, old man. Just spin the racket – I’m logo.”

            Bones twirls the racket and steps back to let it drop. “Logo down, I serve. Get ready to eat your words, little man.” He hops onto the left side of the court and serves the ball. It smacks the wall with a loud pop and shoots toward Jim.

           Jim rears back and volleys the ball hard, dodging as Bones jumps in front of him. It doesn’t take long for his body to heat up: jumping around the court to avoid his friend and run after the ball. His blood starts rushing in his ears with the effort and by the time they reach the third game, his clothes are damp with sweat. Jim’s body feels less awkward as he shoots from one side of the court to the other, arm snapping forward to hit the ball. It’s as if all the muscle memory from his exercise has transferred over; Jim feels more like himself than he has in days.

            By the end of the fifth game, he’s in a better mood that he’s been in since the change, too. He uses the back of his hand to wipe some of the sweat off of his forehead and grins at Bones’ scowl. “Good game,” he says, reaching out to shake his friend’s hand.

            “Yeah, whatever.” McCoy has never been a particularly good loser. He takes Jim’s hand regardless. “I want a rematch next week. I’m taking you down.” He almost growls when Jim starts walking away with a chuckle.

            After a shower, Jim decides to head to commissary to eat instead of staying in his quarters, as he’s done the last six days. When he gets there, the room is pretty empty (it’s the middle of a shift and not a meal time based on the ship’s automated days) but Lt. Uhura is sitting at a table with a cup of coffee. “Do you mind if I join you?” Jim asks, while punching in a number on the replicator.

            “Nope,” she says, although she looks a little wary. Everyone still seems unsure of how to treat Jim when he’s not in Captain-mode.

            His chicken sandwich pops up and he walks over to sit across from her. “How are things?” He’s unsure of what to say – while they get along fine on the bridge, he and Uhura have had a particularly strained relationship since the dissolution of hers with Spock.

            “Fine,” she’s cautious. “I’m currently working on translating an ancient Klingon dialect which may give us more insight into their new coding system.”

            “I was talking more in terms of not work.” Jim smiles at her.

            “Oh, um. Also fine. And how are you?” She winces immediately after she says it.

            “I’m adjusting, I guess,” Jim says. “I wanted to thank you for taking care of my attire for the Fendaus meeting.”

            “Of course.”

            “It was beautiful dress.”

            She dips her head a little. “I had seen one like it on a fashion blog the day before. I thought it might look good on you.”

            “And it did!” Scotty’s voice is suddenly heard from across the room, he’s already striding towards them. “The Captain looked fierce!” He lets out a low whistle but stops short when Uhura glares at him.

            Jim is blushing now, picking at the salad that came with his sandwich. He’s unsure of how to respond – he knows Scotty doesn’t mean to be rude, but the comment does come off as a little inappropriate.

            “There’s an old holo playing in rec. room 4,” Scotty says, apparently oblivious to his misstep. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me?” he looking at Uhura when he asks.

            “Do you want to come, Jim?” Uhura looks a little desperate, although Jim isn’t sure if she’s desperate for him to say no or yes. In the end, he decides he doesn’t want to sit still for two hours to watch some old movie.

            “Thanks for the invite, but I think I’ll pass.”

            Uhura looks a little relieved, but when she’s on her way out, she pats Jim’s shoulder and lets her hand linger for a few seconds.

* * *

 

            “ETA to Calder II is 22 minutes, sir,” Sulu says, turning to glance at Jim.

            “Got it. Standard orbit when we arrive. I’ll be beaming down with McCoy and a science crew.”

            “Captain,” Spock says, turning in his seat, “As I have already stated, I do not think it is wise for you to return to the planet’s surface. We have no way of knowing whether the cause of your gender change will affect you again, in another – and possibly more detrimental – way.”

            “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Spock, and it is duly noted.” Jim frowns. “I’m still going down.”

            “In that case Captain, I request –“

            “Request denied. If something does happen down there, I need someone capable in charge of the ship.”

            “Understood.” Spock swivels his chair around to face his console once more, and Jim can see a line of tension in his back.

            Calder II seems no different than the first time they beamed down. It’s temperate and comfortable, the vegetation grows freely, and there’s absolutely no sign of anything that could have changed Jim’s gender.

            “Let’s review what you did once more,” McCoy says, while the science team walks off, tricorders bleeping loudly. “You beamed down at these exact coordinates and then…”

            “And then I squatted down here to pick up a handful of this sand.” McCoy scoops up a sample of the sand and seals it in a jar. “Then I asked Mr. Spock why he thought there was a Federation outpost here and why we had been ordered to contact it. He lauded the planet’s possible boundless natural resources and then we were commed by Uhura, saying that we had to return immediately.”

            “That’s it, you didn’t do anything else? You didn’t interact with any of the plants?”

            Jim shakes his head. “Honestly, we might have been down here five minutes. I touched the sand and that rock.” He points to a rock near the energizing point. “Other than that, there’s not much I can tell you.”

            McCoy shakes his head. “Alright Jim, not much else you can do here. I’ve got the science team scanning the whole area for anything unusual or suspicious and I’ll remain until they’ve finished. You may as well go back to the ship.” Jim shrugs his shoulders – he doesn’t particularly want to stay anyways.


	2. A Lack of Elucidation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim continues to struggle to accept his new form, but discovers that he's not the only one who has to manage. Also, the ship's really in danger, this time.

            “Bridge to Captain Kirk,” Ensign Delva’s voice comes through on Jim’s comm. He drops the old fashioned novel he’s been half heartedly flipping through and hustles over to the monitor.

            “Kirk here. What is it Ensign?”

            “We’ve received a communication from the Admiral. Shall I patch it through to your personal monitor?”

            “Sure, go ahead.” Jim can see the Ensign pushing a few buttons just below the view of the screen and then his visage is replaced by that of the Admiral. Jim offers him a half assed salute and a grin (he’s found, for some reason, it’s a lot easier to get away with that shit now that he looks like a woman.) “Sir, I wasn’t expecting any kind of a communication.”

            “Let’s cut right to the quick of things and skip the pleasantries.”

            Jim nods. “What can I do for you sir?”

           “How long has the Enterprise been orbiting Calder II, testing with no results?”

           Jim feels himself slump forward a little. “8 days, sir.”

           “Right. If you haven’t found it yet, you’re not going to. I want you to have your medical team and science division forward all relevant data to HQ and we’ll see if your guys missed anything.”       

          “All due respect, sir, but I have some of the best people in the fleet-“

          “And we’ve got the best in the entire Federation. I’m not saying they can’t still work on it, time allowing. I’m just saying it doesn’t hurt to let someone else help. And I’ve got a new mission for you.”

           Jim straightens. “Yes sir.”

          “I want you to go to Gemini Sigma and do some scans. We’ve had sporadic distress calls from there for the last two days. We can’t make out much, but we do know it’s coming from a Federation vessel.” Jim nods, a quick jerk of his head. “Kirk, we haven’t sent a ship out there in ten years. Something’s going on, and I want you to find out what.”

         “Of course, sir. We’ll plot a course immediately.”

         “See that you do. Bleeks out.”

          Jim frowns at the screen for a moment, even after it’s gone dark. Finally he mashes down the button to comm the bridge. “Lt. Sulu, I want you to plot a course for Gemini Sigma and head there immediately.”

         Sulu’s brow furrows together but then he nods. “Aye, sir.” Jim cuts off the communication and leans back in his chair with a sigh. He should tell Bones and Spock to forward their data right away – it wouldn’t do to let Bleeks think they delayed for any reason. Feeling suddenly restless, Jim decides he’ll walk around the ship to find his targets. He discovers Bones first, in the rec. room, chatting up a new engineering Lt. they picked up the last star base.

         The young woman half rises, but Jim stops her with a hand. “At ease, Lt. I just need a quick word with the doctor.”

         McCoy gets up from the table and walks over to the corner of the room with Jim. “What’s up? Is everything okay?”

         “I’m fine,” Jim tries to shake the small feeling of annoyance building in his gut. “Admiral Bleeks just hailed me. He wants you to forward all information pertaining to my case to HQ.”

         “Why?” Bones asks, crossing his arms.

         “We have a new mission. We’re leaving Calder II.”

         “What? Jim, I’m sure I can crack this think if I just get a little more time.”

         “You can still work on it,” Jim says, trying to sound positive and feeling like a liar. “You’re just going to have some more help now.”

         Bones hunches over so that he’s closer to Jim and lowers his voice even more. “If I send them that data, they’re going to haul your ass into HQ and poke you and prod you. They’ll make an experiment out of you, Jim.”

         “And you haven’t poked me?” Jim asks, but there’s no bite in his voice.

         “You know it’s all for your well being,” Bones says, still defensive. “They’ll use you for some higher cause.” Bones reaches out to put a hand on Jim’s shoulder and squeezes. “They’ll try to get you off this ship so that they can study you.”

         “I hate it as much as you do, but orders are orders. You’ve gotta send them the data.”

         Bones shakes his head and removes his hand. “I’ll do it, but I ain’t gonna like it.”

         When Jim finally finds Spock, sitting silent and alone on the observation deck, the Vulcan has the same attitude at the doctor – for a moment, Jim deviously thinks about telling both of them about their similar ideas.

         “Jim, I do not think it is wise to do so. They will use the data as support for forcing your early return to Head Quarters. They will replace you as Captain of the ship, they may even declare you unfit for command – which you are not, I am aware. They will perform painful and possibly humiliating tests on you to serve no purpose but their own. I cannot foresee any potential gain from following these orders. Also, I believe, given a small amount of additional time, I will be able to obtain the necessary data to solve your dilemma.”

         Jim can’t help but grin ruefully at Spock’s words. He turns away from his partner and looks out the massive window. “I know all of that Spock. But I can’t disobey a direct order.” Jim’s hands seem to wrap around his body of their own accord – he suddenly feels chilled, and the room around him seems too large. He fights to swallow around a massive lump in his throat. “Jesus. I feel so helpless. Again. Just like the fist day.” He drops onto one of the benches and lets himself bow over a bit.

        He doesn’t hear Spock come up behind him, but the soft hands that begin massaging the back of his neck doesn’t startle him. He leans into Spock’s ministrations and lets out a guttural groan. “You are not helpless. But I understand your emotion. Perhaps if the doctor and I double our efforts, we will be able to find a solution before the data reaches Head Quarters.” Spock lets a hand travel down Jim’s shoulder and then around to his back. He kneads the tense muscle there, pushing Jim into a forward leaning position as he does so. “I will not let them take away what is rightfully yours, that which you have worked so hard to earn. I would not lose you to them, Jim.” Spock’s hands move around to Jim’s sides then down to his lower back, just above the waist band of his pants. There’s a small strip of exposed skin there, and Spock drags his thumb over the warm flesh. “You are not helpless, Jim,” he reiterates. “You have the support of your entire crew.” There are goose bumps on Jim’s skin and Spock pushes his hand underneath of Jim’s uniform. He taps his fingers lightly on the muscle there.

         Jim has his elbows on his knees and is crouched forward between them to try and offer Spock as much of his back as he can. It’s been a long time since he’s gotten a massage, and the little kisses on his back make him shiver. When Spock finally removes his hand and adjusts Jim’s shirt, Jim lets out a sigh of resignation. “Where are you going?” he asks, his voice a little raspy. He still doesn’t bother to sit up, feeling liquefied where he sits.

         “I planned to return to the lab, and – as I promised you – to double my efforts. Am I needed elsewhere?”

         Jim can’t help but feel a little disappointed. But he knows that’s where Spock needs to be right now, if they have any chance of figuring this out in time. “No, it’s okay. Are you planning on sleeping tonight?”

         “I do not require rest, no.”

         “Alright,” Jim rises languidly from the bench. Without thought, he finds himself gripping Spock’s hand and rising on his tiptoes to kiss the man’s lips. It’s the first time since his transformation that they’ve had that sort of physical contact, and he pulls back feeling slightly stunned.

        Spock, for his part, just raises an eyebrow. Jim doesn’t miss the quirk of his lips, though.

 

        Later that night, when he’s asleep, a shout rouses him. “Jim! Jim, wake up!”

        “What?” Jim rubs his eyes and orders the lights to 50% to find Bones standing in the doorway, looking a little like a mad man. His shirt is rumpled, his hair’s standing on end – going every which way – and he’s holding a hypo in his outstretched hand.

        “I think I’ve got it!” he says, not waiting for Jim to fully wake or get out of bed. He rushes over to the bedside and extends the hypo. “I think this is it!”

        Jim’s still a little groggy, but his eyes go wide at Bones’ final exclamation. “Have you confirmed with Spock?”

        “What? No, of course not. He’s studying equations and calculations. Numbers. I deal with the body.”

        “We should check with the science team before you shoot me up with something, Bones.”

        “Jim, I’m a doctor. I know what I’m doing.”

        “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d treated multiple cases of unexpected gender changes.” Jim gets out of bed and shuffles over to the monitor on his desk, messing his hair as he does so. “Spock, it’s me.”

        “Jim, why are you not asleep?” Spock comes on the screen looking moderately concerned, sitting at one of the tables in a lab. He has 10 or 11 PADDs spread out around him, but looks much more composed than the doctor.

        “McCoy just came barging in here, saying he has the cure. He’s waving a hypo around like a mad man.” Bones grunts in the background. “I want to know if you got similar results to his. Can you correlate?”

        “Of course. One moment.” Spock rises from his chair and is absent from the view screen for a moment as he talks to the computer. When he returns, he’s almost frowning. “The doctor’s results do not coincide with mine, but there is a definite possibility his solution may work. I believe you would be well served in allowing him to dose you, while in the safety of the sickbay. I will, of course, meet you both there momentarily.”

        “Are you saying he beat you to the punch?”

        Spock raises an eyebrow. “The punch?”

        “You know what I mean.”

        “I must confess, I do not take your meaning,” Spock says, clicking off the monitor immediately after.

        Jim chuckles and turns to Bones, who looks a little less wild now that Jim’s fully awake. “Well, let’s go. No time like the present to shoot your Captain up with an unknown substance.”

        “I know what it is,” Bones growls.

        Spock is already at the sickbay waiting for them when they arrive, Jim being hustled along by McCoy. “Alright, already, I’m going, I’m going. You can’t just wake a man up in the middle of the night and then expect him to jog the length of a star ship!”

        “Our quarters are hardly on the opposite end of the ship from the sickbay,” Spock says as he helps Jim onto a bio bed.

        “Hush,” Jim commands.

        “So what is this miracle cure?”

        “There’s a mix of compounds in the atmosphere on Calder II that, together, could have created this…reaction in you. This’s a mix of their elemental opposites. It should reverse the transformation next time you go to sleep.”

        “Do you know why it only affected me and no one else?”

        “One of the elements in this shot is tetranecium, which is commonly found in the vaccine for Capsis 5, which you were never vaccinated for because you got it when you were 3. Every body else on the landing party has received the vaccine and so has at least some small trace amount of tetranecium in their body.” Bones looks rather proud of himself when he finishes his explanation.

        “Okay,” Jim says, unable to put off the inevitable any longer. “Let’s do this.”

        The hypo looks larger than he’s used to, but perhaps it’s just his nerves. He extends his arm and McCoy presses it to his skin. With a small pinch, the solution is injected into his skin. “Now, for the initial reaction to take place, you had to be unconscious. I assumed this would be the same and so I included a mild sedative to help you get to sleep.”

        Jim can already feel his eyelids getting heavy and he lies back on the pillow, letting his breaths lengthen. “Wish me luck,” he mutters, unsure if his friends can understand him.

        He feels Spock’s fingers ghost over his collar bone and press against his cheek. “Good luck.”

 

        The moment Jim awakes, he knows McCoy’s theory didn’t work. His body feels exactly the same as when he passed out and even if that wasn’t an indication, Spock is standing over him with a disconcerted (for Spock) look on face. His hands are clasped behind his back and he looks unexpectedly weary.

        “So it didn’t work?” Jim says, glancing down at his torso to double check.

        The Vulcan’s nostrils flare. “No, I am sorry.” At least Spock sounds moderately disappointed.

        “Where’s Bones?”

        “You have been unconscious for approximately six hours. After four, Doctor McCoy fell asleep.” Spock points to another bio bed where McCoy is, indeed, passed out and drooling.

        “Shit,” Jim whispers, feeling his voice catch. “I really thought that was gonna work.”

        “As did I.” Spock observes Jim for a few minutes until the man tries to get up from the bio bed. “Are you alright?”

        Jim shakes his head. “I think it must just be the combo Bones hit me with. I’m still feeling pretty groggy and disoriented.”

        “You should rest more,” Spock reaches out and presses Jim’s shoulder back, attempting to push him back onto the bed.

        “I don’t want to sleep here,” Jim ignores the hand and clambers out of the bed, falling to his knees as he does so. Spock catches him and lifts him easily in a bridal hold. “Will you take me to our quarters?”

        “I do not see what harm it could do.” Spock is already carrying Jim out of the sickbay even as he replies.

        Once they arrive, Spock deposits Jim on the bed, adjusting the messy comforter around him. “You will sleep, now,” he says, ensuring Jim can’t mistake the command for a question. “I plan to return to the lab and continue looking for a solution.”

        “You must be exhausted; you’ve been working for ages without rest.” Jim’s eyelids are already beginning to droop, but he reaches out to grip Spock’s hand, letting their index and middle fingers touch briefly in quick kiss. “Stay with me, sleep for a while.”

        “Jim, there is much work to be done.”

        “You’ll be no good to me if you’re a zombie.”

        “I do not believe that I resemble the walking dead quite yet,” Spock says, but he’s already removing his boots and uniform, tossing the soiled laundry into the shoot and climbing into bed with Jim. “But I will stay for a short time, for your comfort and ease of mind.”        Jim feels a warm arm wrap around him, Spock presses tightly against him from behind. “Goodnight, Jim.” There’s a kiss on his ear and before he can fall asleep once more, Spock is already breathing steadily and deeply against the nape of his neck.

* * *

 

            When Jim wakes, it’s to a familiar but unexpected pressure against his backside. While he’s had his fair share of causeless erections many a morning, Jim still finds himself attempting to scoot surreptitiously away from Spock’s still sleeping form. Spock’s arms, though, are wrapped around Jim’s torso, and he knows if he moves much more, he’ll wake his light sleeper of a partner. So he attempts to angle his hips away from Spock, leaving his shoulders in place, but the movement still rouses him.

            “Jim?” Spock’s voice barely sounds groggy. “Is something the matter?” As he wakes, he must realize why Jim was trying to create space between them. Spock’s hips suddenly snap back and away from Jim, his arms following just after. “I must apologize,” Spock says, soundly vaguely ill.

            “It’s okay.” Jim’s still facing away from Spock and he wants to turn over, but he can’t seem to force himself to do so.

            “I did not intend to…place in you in such a position.”

            “I know. Don’t worry about it.” Jim’s stomach is churning, even as he offers the taciturn phrase.

            “You are upset.”

            He finally forces himself to roll over, and his concern is immediately allayed. Spock’s hair is wildly unkempt from sleep, he’s wearing one of Jim’s old sleep shirts (he must have woken chilled at some point) and there’s a look of overt consternation on his face. His lips are twisted into an almost grimace and his brown eyes give away more than he likely intends to.

            Jim sighs and reaches out to brush down one of the many stray hairs. “It’s really okay. Don’t worry about it.”

            “I want you to know that I did not have any expectations of sexual congress when I chose to rest with you.”

            “I know that. I’m not upset. It just surprised me.”

            “I will attempt to control myself in the future.”

            “Do you want a blow job?” Jim could do that, he thinks, realizing that in the weeks he’s been struggling with his own body, Spock has, too. But Spock is still in his own body, and going from having sex almost every day to never must be hard on someone who hasn’t changed a bit.

            “That will not be necessary,” Spock says, even as he shifts in the bed and light green tints the tips of his ears.

            Unable to stop himself, Jim reaches out to run his fingers over the blush on Spock’s ears, suddenly revelling in the thought of _touching_ him again. He feels a spark of liquid heat somewhere in the region of his pubis, and he abruptly wants this just as much as he’s sure Spock does. “Come on, you’ll like it. I think this mouth is just as big as my old one.”

            Spock nods. “Indeed, you speak as though it is. But I do not need you to perform fellatio on me. I find my arousal has almost entirely waned.”

            Jim frowns, pulling back. “You don’t think I’m attractive anymore?”

            “On the contrary, I find you extremely visually satisfying. However, I would be an inattentive mate if I allowed you to give me sexual gratification where you would receive none.”

            “I think I’d receive some,” Jim says, feeling a new muscle flexing between his legs.

            Spock rolls out of bed and tugs Jim’s shirt down over his exposed rib cage. “You should rest more,” he says, pushing the blankets back to encase Jim, “we have only slept for 4 hours and you require more sleep than I do.” He hastily grabs a uniform from the closet, and for the first time that Jim can remember, retreats to the bathroom to change. 

* * *

            He knows McCoy doesn’t want to hear it, but it’s been three days since what Jim has dubbed the “erection incident” and Spock has been avoiding almost all contact with Jim outside of their work. One night, Jim woke to Spock puttering around their quarters, but outside of that, they’ve not interacted besides being on the bridge together. In two days, they’ll arrive in the Gemini Sigma, and Jim would prefer if all this nonsense was over by then.

            “I don’t know if all these lady hormones are fucking with my head, but I can’t figure out what’s going on with him. What’s so wrong about propositioning your partner for sex?”

            Bones glares at Jim for a good 10 seconds for throwing back the entirety of his glass. “Jim, I’m a doctor, not a Vulcan. So don’t ask me to think like one.” He refills his glass and takes a small sip this time. “I know if my wife had looked like you, I probably would have spent more time at home.” His eyes widen after he recognizes what he’s let slip. “I just mean that you’re attractive is all,” he says, recovering. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

            Jim lets out a chuckle and reclines in his chair across from McCoy; his first drink still practically untouched. “Thank you for the compliment. But I seriously don’t know what to do about Spock. I thought I was being nice. If I still had balls, they’d be blue. I don’t get what he’s so upset about. Or why he won’t say two words to me outside of ‘All scans in range, Captain’.”

            “Your impression of Spock is spot on. Why don’t you ask Uhura?”

            “Oh, yeah, that’s a good one. ‘Say, Lt., did you ever get rebuffed after offering Spock head? I was wondering if it’s just my body or the female form in general that he has something against.”

            “Well when you say it like that…”

             After leaving Bones in his quarters, Jim ends up wandering the ship for a while. His shift doesn’t start for another six hours, but there’s a restlessness in him that won’t let up. In the end, and almost entirely by accident, he finds Lt. Uhura in an otherwise empty library. She’s doubled over a screen with a stack of tapes at her side, eyes almost closed in concentration.

            “Uhura,” Jim says, deciding to dispense with the formalities immediately. If he’s going to ask her to compare her sex life to his, he assumes they can do without titles.

            “Sir.” She sits up instantaneously and, to her credit, looks only marginally stunned. “Can I help you with something?”

            “Yeah,” Jim scratches behind his ear and settles into the seat next to her. “I actually wanted to ask you something…pretty personal, if you don’t mind.”

            She glares at him for a moment, but eventually shrugs her shoulders. “You can ask me. I can’t promise you I’ll answer, but you can ask.”

            All of Jim’s previous courage suddenly seems to melt out of him. He feels his body shrink with unfamiliar anxiety and he decides it would be better if he just shuffled out of the room and pretended like this entire thing never happened. “It’s about Spock,” he finally manages to grind out.

            “Yes, I assumed.”

            Jim raises an eyebrow.

            “Well, you and I aren’t the closest of friends, so you wouldn’t come to me about any _lady_ problems. The only other personal thing you might want to ask me about would be Spock, right?”

            “Sure, I guess.” He can feel his face warming and glares steadfast at the wall, willing his heart rate to calm. It was hard enough telling Bones about his rejection, he doesn’t particularly want to share that shame with his Lt. “I was just…did you ever…do you know if Spock prefers men or something?”

            Uhura frowns at him and laces her fingers together on the table. “I’m not sure what you mean, exactly.”

            “Well, Spock and I used to have sex all of the time-“

            “Thank you.”

            Jim shakes his head. “Anyways, we haven’t done anything since this happened, and when I tried three days ago, he just…rebuffed me. He’s been avoiding me ever since.”

            Uhura shakes her head slowly, looking a little sad. “No. I mean, we didn’t have sex every day, but it was never a problem when I wanted to.”

            Jim swallows. That wasn’t really the answer he wanted to hear. “Do you think it’s this body? I know I look nothing like I used to, but I think I’m still pretty attractive. I’m certainly not as skinny as you, but…” Suddenly all of his fears about this body and the way Spock feels about it are rushing to the front of his mind – things he hadn’t even thought about before. He’d been so concerned with how he felt in this body, with how out of place he was, he hadn’t even considered Spock’s reaction. Perhaps Spock doesn’t find him attractive at all.

            “Sir…Jim, you’re beautiful. I don’t think Spock finds you unattractive.” Uhura’s hand reaches out and grips one of Jim’s in her own. It’s a not a sensation he ever expected to experience in her presence, but he appreciates the physical contact, the comfort she’s offering him. “If I had to guess, I would say that Spock is concerned about two things. First, he’s worried that if he enjoys sex with you too much while you’re a woman, you’ll think he didn’t like it as much while you were a man. Second, I think he’s concerned that you’re offering only because you think you’re supposed to – not because you want to.”

            Jim feels his mouth twisting and pulls his hand back. “I need to go find Spock.”           

            The Vulcan is, surprisingly, not in any of the labs Jim checks. He runs into two rec. rooms and the commissary before he gives up and searches for Spock on a computer. It appears that he’s resting in their quarters. Jim jogs the short distance and lets himself into the room. Spock is lying on the bed, in his underwear, on top of the covers. The room feels like a sauna and Jim can already feel his shirt sticking to him with sweat. He tiptoes over to the climate control and lowers the temperature a few degrees before stripping down to his own underclothes. Trying not to disturb the mattress, he sits on the bed, running his fingers, feather light, over the sharp angle of Spock’s ear. He traces the cartilage a few times before creating a trail through his hairline and down his neck, along his spine to his lower back, where the waistband of his boxers stops Jim, just at the top of his ass.

            “Jim?” Spock’s voice is muffled by the pillow he’s been lying on.

            “Hey.” Jim keeps his hand outside of Spock’s underwear, but runs it, palm down, over the swell of his ass and then along the back of his thigh. Spock’s back arches minutely at the touch and he bends his knee to that Jim can skim his calf without moving. Spock tilts his head so that his lips are pressed to Jim’s lower back and he kisses the warm skin there.

            “What are you doing here?” his breath ghosts against Jim’s damp skin, eliciting goose bumps.

            “I miss you Spock,” Jim finally twists to face him. “You’ve been avoiding me – it feels like it’s been days since I’ve seen you anywhere other than on the bridge.”

            “I have been utilising my free time to look for a way to reverse your condition. Is that not what you would prefer me to do?”

            Jim shakes his head. “Of course I want you, and every bright mind on this ship, to be looking for a way to fix me. But it’s been ages, Spock. I think you can spare an hour or two of personal time for me, don’t you?”

            “I wanted to give your predicament its due concern and attention.”

            “Are you sure this isn’t about my offer of a blow job?”

            “I must admit,” Spock says, rolling so that there is empty mattress spanning the space between them, “I have been concerned that you would be upset over that incident. I was not sure how to communicate with you in regards to it.”

            “I just talked to Uhura.” Jim swings his legs over the edge of the mattress and sits against the headboard so that he’s close to Spock once more. If Spock wanted to, he could move a little bit and rest his face on Jim’s thigh, but he stays resolutely on the pillow.

            “Why did you deem it necessary to discuss our personal lives with Lt. Uhura?”

            “I didn’t know who to talk to. I didn’t know what was going on with you, or what I had done wrong. I needed someone’s advice and she seemed like the only person who could help me.” Jim tries to stay rational, but it’s not really fair of Spock to get mad at him, when he’s been avoiding Jim all this time. “It’s not like I could ask you.”

            Spock breathes for a moment and then lets his palm come to rest on Jim’s knee. He traces a pattern on the skin there. “You are correct. I apologize. It is my fault that you were placed in such a precarious situation. May I ask what you and Lt. Uhura discussed?”

            “I asked her if you liked men more than women. I told her that you had declined my offer and asked her why she thought you had done that. I thought maybe you thought I was…wasn’t as attractive as before. She told me you were scared that I might be offering because I felt like I had to.”

            Spock sighs and sits up so that he and Jim are shoulder to shoulder. He grips Jim’s hand in his own and brings his fingers to his lips, kissing them softly. “I would first like to allay any fears you may have that I do not find your current form attractive. As I have already stated four times, I find you aesthetically pleasing, and you arouse me – just as you did and will again in your male form. It is not just your physical representation that attracts me, Jim, but your personal one as well. Your attitude, the choices you make, and ultimately your psychic presence are the factors that attracted me to you and still do. I did not just choose to bond with a shell, but with an entire person.” Spock looks at him and Jim nods dumbly, unsure of what to say. “Second, I would like to explain my reaction to your offer – which I now see I should have done that very night. I apologize – I let my emotions cloud my judgment and I acted rashly. That was incongruent with my character and unfair to you.”

            “Spock, I don’t mean-“

            “No, Jim, please let me finish.” Jim dips his head and shifts his hand in Spock’s grip. “The entire time you have been in this female form, I have been trying to reconcile my image of you with the one represented to me. The few times you have requested a mind meld have been a brief respite – your mind remains exactly the same as it was before your bodily transformation. However, when I look at your face or touch your body, I have to remind myself that it is _my_ Jim Kirk that I am making physical contact with. I am still not completely capable of assimilating your appearance with the idea of my partner, though I know, logically, that it is you.” Spock pauses for a breath and Jim lifts their clasped hands to press a kiss to their knuckles.

            “When I become aroused in your presence, a small part of me experiences shame, because I feel as though I am being disloyal to your body, even if I am not being disloyal to your mind. Your offer of sexual release inflamed in me a desire I did not want to recognize and I fled. I am sorry – I have been flagellating myself these past three days and it seems that you, too, have suffered because of it. That was never my intent.”

             Jim isn’t sure what to say in response to Spock’s lengthy and remarkably emotional confession. He blinks back a threatening wetness and drags his foot up Spock’s leg. “I don’t know what to say,” he finally utters.

             “Lt. Uhura was also right in guessing that I thought you were only offering because you felt obligated to. I would not want you to provide me with sexual favours because you assumed some sort of responsibility over my sexual well being. I have masturbated many times since you have taken female form and I am content to continue doing so if you would prefer it.”

             “Masturbated? Christ, Spock, no. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to. I’m not ready for real sex or anything yet, but I’m pretty sure I could handle a blow job.”

             “I would still feel inappropriate receiving gratification at your expense.”

             “It wouldn’t be _at my expense._ I want to do it. I still don’t understand this body, but you turn me on. I know that much.”

             Spock bumps Jim’s knee with his own. “As you have said to me many times, I am lucky to have you, ashayam.”

            “Luck has nothing to do with it,” Jim responds, taking a line from Spock’s usual repertoire. He reaches out and trails a hand down Spock’s chest, letting it come to rest just below his navel where his waistband is taut against his skin. “So, can I give you a blow job?”

             “Only if doing so will give you pleasure, also.”

             “It will,” Jim says. Though the light in their quarters is dim, he can already see the bulge forming in Spock’s shorts and the liquid heat is pooling in him once more. His heart flutters with anxiety, something which he hasn’t really felt since he was an experimental teen. The feeling makes his ear buzz and itch as he crouches on the mattress so that his body is compacted beside Spock’s outstretched legs. “Let me sit between your legs,” Jim says, pulling off his partner’s shorts quickly. He feels a sensation of comfort at the familiar sight of Spock naked. When Jim looks in the mirror, he is met with an uncommon vision, but this…this is still the same. Spock spreads his legs in a wide V so that Jim can kneel between them.

            When Jim first reaches out to grasp Spock’s erection, unsure of how his small hands will fit on it, Spock can’t retain a groan of satisfaction.

            “I know you’re still the same, but I’ve got to figure out how to do this now,” Jim says, ears still buzzing slightly. His feet are starting to go numb, and he shifts so that he’s dropped to the side, thigh pressing against the inside of Spock’s leg.

            “I will be just as pleased if you take your time,” Spock assures him.

            A tentative hand slides up and down his shaft and they both suck in a quick gasp of air at the same time. Jim dips his head, keeping one hand on the base of Spock’s penis and placing the other on his abdomen for balance. He tentatively licks the length and Spock lets out a shuddering breath, reaching for Jim’s hand. Suddenly, 22 days seems like far too long to go without Jim’s touch. Jim turns his free hand up so that their fingers make contact and a sudden sensation fills Spock that he has never felt before. A molten heat in Jim’s core pulses through the connection, a slow burning not at the base of his spine, but in the center of his body, dripping warmth between his legs.

           The usual golden starburst of energy Spock usually receives from Jim during sexual relations is suddenly a red, roiling lava instead. “Jim,” he says, because even though Jim’s mouth is barely on his penis, even though he’s barely been touched, he’s sure he’s going to come. “Jim, please.” Jim leans further forward to take as much of Spock’s erection into his mouth as he can, his tongue trailing down the underside. His lips almost reach his hand, which is still wrapped around the base. “Jim,” Spock mutters, his free hand tangling loosely in Jim’s hair. He stills hips to keep them from jutting up into the warm velvet of Jim’s mouth as Jim bumps his ass against Spock’s leg in time with his now bobbing head.

            “I do not know how much longer…” Spock lets his sentence trail off into a heady moan as Jim dips his tongue into his slit.

            “It’s okay,” Jim pants, coming up for air. Spock is barely able to see his partner through the haze of their linked minds, colors of Jim colliding with his own. Sensations, emotions, feelings wrapping themselves around him. “You can come, I don’t mind.” Jim dips his head once more, but instead of pressing his mouth to Spock’s dick, he presses their linked hands to the psi points on his face. The sudden, direct link is too much for Spock and he comes to a veil of stars.

            It takes a few moments for Spock to realize Jim has broken contact. When the darkness clears from his mind, Jim is tossing a damp cloth down the laundry shoot and Spock is naked but clean. “So, did you like it?”

            “I see now that I only had to perform a mind meld, and then I would have been assured of your mutual enjoyment.”

            Jim laughs before falling onto the bed next to Spock once more. He tangles his limbs around and with Spock’s, letting his warmth radiate in Spock’s mind once more. “I love you.”

            Spock lays back and closes his eyes, tracing patterns on Jim’s bare back. 

* * *

            “How long until we reach Gemini Sigma?” Jim asks over the comm. He’s sitting in the conference room with Spock and Uhura – the three of them have spent the last couple of days combing through classified communications from this sector.

            “We’ll arrive in approximately 2 hours, sir, but Gemini is large and we may have to travel within it.” Chekhov’s voice sounds unsure, but steady, as always.

            “Yes, thank you.” Jim cuts the link and sits down, refilling his coffee. “I can’t figure out what’s going on here. I mean, twenty years ago the USS Marvel went dark, but other than that, there’s never been any suspicious activity in this sector. What’s going on?”

            “A ship going dark any time is an odd occurrence, Captain,” Uhura nods her thanks when Jim pours her a new cup, as well. “But I do agree, twenty years ago is a long time and I find it difficult to believe that the same ship would now be sending out a distress signal, even an automated one.”

            “And we don’t have specific coordinates of the location of the distress signal?”

            “No, it appears to be coming from various points around the cluster. We have been unable to pinpoint its location. The most recent transmission, however, came yesterday from close to Altanorch.”

            “And what do we know about Altanorch?”

            “It is a class J, gas giant, incapable of supporting life as we know it,” Spock says.

            “Alright, so we’re basically in the same place we were before we had this information. Can we do a scan of the area and see if there’s anything strange?”

            “Of course, Captain.”

            Jim stacks some of the PADDs together and rises from his chair. “I think that’s all we’re going to get from reading and reviewing this shit, let’s head up to the bridge,” he says to Spock. “Lt. you go get some rest, I’ll need you in top form when we get there.”

            “Sir, I’m sure that I can-“

            “You’ve been up for 36 hours. Sleep for a couple. I promise I’ll call you as soon as shit starts to go down.”

            “Yes sir.”

            They part ways as they leave the conference room and Spock joins Jim in the turbo lift. “What do you think is going on?” Jim asks, once the doors closed.

            “Without further data, I find myself unable to come to any conclusions.”

            “No speculations?” Jim asks. He hates walking into something blind, and Spock usually has some idea of what’s going on.

            “No, my apologies.” The door opens to the bridge and Spock walks swiftly to his station, pulling his scanner out. Jim drops into his chair and almost instantly a yeoman is at his elbow with a PADD, requiring a signature.

            “Captain,” Spock says after a moment, “I am getting some strange readings.”

            “Hit me.”

            “Altanorch’s mass has been drastically reduced and its magnetic charge is rapidly changing – this is unlike anything I have ever seen. The planet’s diameter is still the same, it is almost as though someone removed the core.”

            “That’s insane,” Jim says, rising from his seat. “How much is it reduced?”

            “By 32.556%.”

            “Shit. What’s going on around it? Where’d all that mass go?” Spock turns to look at Jim, his mouth open with consternation.

            “Captain!” Chekov’s shout draws Jim’s attention back to the center of the bridge and he steps away from Spock’s side.

            “What is it?”

            “There’s something on our scanners, sir. I think it’s the ship that’s been sending out the distress signal.”

            “Get Uhura up here, now. I want to know if that distress signal is coming through and if it is, what it’s saying.” Jim points at the communications ensign who nods at him, paging Uhura up as he does so.

            “Give me maximum magnification on the approximate location of the vessel. I want to see that ship as soon as possible.”

            “Aye, sir.”

            “Captain?” Spock’s voice grabs his attention and Jim turns to face him. “If I may, I’m seeing…life forms on Altanorch.”

            “Life forms?”

            “Yes sir, I believe so. They are not like any other life forms I have ever encountered, but they are plentiful and in sporadic groups. They appear to be beneath the surface.”

            “When did the last vessel go through here?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.

            “10 years, 6 months, and 3 days ago.”

            “Did they report any life signs on Altanorch?”

            “No sir. It was believed impossible for such a planet to sustain life.”

            Jim scrubs at his face and adjusts his shirt. It’s going to be a _long_ night. Uhura steps onto the bridge and relieves her fellow officer. “Uhura, start hailing that ship on all frequencies. Tell them we’re here to provide aid, if they need it.”

            “Aye sir.”

            “And ask them what the Hell is going on here,” he adds, though he assumes she knows he doesn’t mean it.

            “I’ve been able to magnify the hull of the vessel, Sir.”

            Jim turns to look on the view screen. The ship is clearly an old one that’s suffered major external (and possibly internal) damage. There are dark spots on its surface that look like scorch marks and pieces of the phaser banks are completely missing. On the front of the ship, half burnt off, is her name. USS Marv- Jim knows, even without the last two letters, that this is the ship from twenty years ago. What he can’t figure out, is how it got there.

            “Is she moving?”

            “No sir, dead in the water.”

            “Any life signs on board?” he asks Spock.

            “We are not close enough to scan.”

            “Take us in, nice and easy,” Jim orders, sitting in his chair, tense on the edge of the seat. “Uhura, have they answered any of our hails yet?”

            “No sir. They are receiving, but I’m getting radio silence.”

            “Damn it! Keep trying.”

            It only takes a few moments of Sulu’s manoeuvring before Spock is able to scan the ship. “There appear to be 42 living beings on board the ship, sir.”

            “Are you scanning for those life forms you found of Altanorch, too?”

            “Of course. There are none present.”

            “42 people, sending out an SOS, who won’t answer our hails. Anyone ever play Clue? Got an idea what in the Hell is going on here?”

            “Captain, we’re close enough now that we should be able to order their screen on using Star Fleet controls,” Uhura prompts him.

             Jim hesitates only for a moment before nodding. “Okay, go ahead, do it.”

            Spock’s fingers fly over his work station, keying in command codes, sending them out on the proper frequency. The bridge is silent, watching the view screen, waiting for the picture to appear. Finally, something comes up. It’s mostly static, but what Jim can discern makes his stomach churn. There are at least 20 people on the bridge of that small ship, and it looks like bedlam. It’s a disgusting mess and the people wandering around in their own filth don’t seem to notice the mess or each other. They continuously wander on the bridge, bumping into structures and other people, turning only when they smack directly into a wall or dividing bar.

            “What the fuck?” Jim leans forward, squinting, unable to believe his eyes.

            “Well, now we know why they weren’t answering,” Sulu says.

            “We’ve got to send a team over there immediately.”

            “Captain, I do not think that is advisable until we have better ascertained the status of the USS Marvel. There could possibly be a contagion on the ship that would be harmful to our crew as well. If you transport over now, you could risk exposing the entire ship to an unknown contagion.” Jim blinks at Spock and feels his mouth twist. He knows his Science Officer is right.

            “Fine. Can we check their security feeds from here? Can we find out what happened?” He’s turning to Uhura, who’s already pushing buttons.

            “I’m downloading right now, sir.”

            “Send it to conference room 4. Spock, you and Bones meet me there in five minutes.”

            “Sir, I request permission to attend, too.” Uhura looks upset, but undeterred. “As I consulted on the ship before, I would appreciate being able to see this mission through.”

            “Of course, sure.”

            Jim steps into the turbo lift and allows himself a moment to breathe. The last 40 minutes seem to have lasted for hours and he suddenly feels more drained than he can remember feeling in a long time. He sighs and shakes his legs and arms before the lift stops and he steps out, trying to put some sort of smile on his face. Bones is already sitting at the table when he opens the door.

            “Shit, I just saw the view from the bridge. What’s going on over there?”

            Jim shakes his head, dropping into a seat next to Bones. “I have no clue. I wanted to go over and check it out, but Spock said we should review the security footage first.”

            “Hate to say it, but he’s right. I don’t want to go over there and end up a drooling sock puppet shuffling around in my own shit.”

            “I know. I just hate this…being in the dark. And did you hear about the planet?”

            “What about it?”

            “Its mass dropped by 33%.”

            “32.556%, Captain,” Spock says, as he follows Uhura into the room.

            “Yeah. It’s weird though, and I want to know what’s going on. There are strange life signs on a planet that suddenly weighs less and a missing ship appears out of nowhere with its crew in a vegetative state?”

            “I agree, it is very unusual,” Spock says, resting his hands on the table.

            “Lucky for us, I was able to download all of the security footage from before the ship went dark and a little from after. I don’t know if it will give us all of our answers, but hopefully we’ll get some of them.”

            “Put it on the viewer,” Jim says.

            The lights dim and the large screen on the far end of the room flickers to life. The video quality is poor, grainy and dark, but that’s to be expected after so long of a time.

            “This is from two hours before the ship stopped communicating with Star Fleet. If we need more, I can go back further.”

            Jim leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, feeling his exhaustion catch up to him. He can sense Spock’s own fatigue from the other side of the room, but he brushes the feelings aside and focuses on the footage that’s coming to life in front of him.

            There’s a crew of eight on the bridge, which is spotless in the old footage. The Captain is sitting, ramrod straight, in his chair and the crew looks slightly panicked. The helmsman turns to her captain, “I’m sorry sir, I can’t seem to get control of her. We seem to be caught in an energy field of some sort.”

            “What do you mean, ‘of some sort’?”

            “I can’t make it out sir. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.” Jim flinches – he’s heard that phrase too many times today.

            The Captain turns to another crew member. “Give me something, Yensen. Tell me you’ve got something in that fancy new scanner of yours.”

            “I do, sir. It’s a tractor beam, but it’s created with an energy I’ve never seen before. Stronger than ours but smaller range, and created with less force. It’s possible that they’re using fission to create the reaction.”

            “Fission?”

            “Yes sir. It’s giving off massive amounts of heat, off the charts.”

            “Transmit all of this to Star Fleet,” the Captain instructs his communications officer. “Make sure they’re getting all of this.”

            Jim turns to Spock. “There was no record of this in Star Fleets data bank, was there?” he whispers as the Captain continues to issue orders on screen.

            “No. It is possible that the energy beam which had already locked onto the Marvel was also capable of stopping their transmissions.”

            Jim purses his lips. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

            On the screen, the lights on the Marvel flicker on and off. “Engineering, what’s going on?”

            “I don’t know sir, the energy’s fluctuating. I can’t seem to stabilize it.”

            “Well get on it, son.”

            “Yes, sir. Right away.”

            “We’re going to lose gravity soon, if this keeps up.”

            “They had their lights and gravity on the same board?” McCoy asks.

            “ _Have_ their lights and gravity on the same board.”

            “That’s ridiculous.”

            Uhura shushes Jim and the doctor with a wave of her hand, intently watching the scene unfold before her.

            “Have you figured out where that beam’s coming from yet? Or how to get us out of it?” The science officer shakes his head morosely and the Jim notices that the navigator has suddenly dropped, face down, on his console.

            “Market,” the Captain says, clearly trying not to sound distressed. He pushes himself out of his chair and grips the navigator’s shoulders, pulling him up so that his head lolls back against the chair. “Market, wake up!” Market isn’t rousing, and the Captain swears before calling a medic to the bridge.

            “Looks like most days on this ship,” McCoy mutters.

            “Shut up,” Jim grunts.

            The ship begins to shake and the lights flicker once more. “Engineering, what the Hell is going on down there?” the Captain is desperately fighting not to lose control.

            “He won’t answer you, _Captain,_ ” Market says, his body still limp in the chair. His voice sounds as though it is double layered, two voices in one, and somehow synthesized. Even though it’s just a recording, the sound makes the hair of the back of Jim’s neck stand up.

            “What the – Market?”

            “Lt. Market is gone.”

            “Who are you? And what have you done with my crew member?” The Captain’s hands are balled into fists and shaking at his side. Jim has to remind himself that back then, Star Fleet wasn’t as familiar with alien life forms as they are now. This must have been an utterly terrifying experience for the new captain of the ship.

            “I have digested him.”

            “ _What?_ ” The Captain takes a step back from Market’s form and the helmsman looks like she wants to vacate her seat.

            “I have consumed his mental energy. The man you once knew as Market no longer exists.”

            “Who are you?” the Captain reiterates, his eyes wide.

            “We are the Salundri, and we hold you captive.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “You have been transported to the center of our planet. We hold you captive.”

            “For what purpose?” The helmsman does vacate her seat now and moves to grip a railing on the far end of the bridge. The lights on the ship flicker once more before going out completely and someone swears in the darkness.

            “My people require energy to sustain themselves.”

            “Do you want our help?”

            “We want you.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “Captain, we will have your crew. You will provide the energy we require to survive.”

            The security footage, though certainly not the two hours Uhura promised, suddenly cuts out. Jim commands the lights back to 100% and looks around at his friends. “Okay…so, not a disease that made them crazy, then,” he says, trying to smile.

            “Jim, I must insist that we tow the Marvel and vacate this sector immediately. After watching the footage, I believe that whoever held the crew of the Marvel hostage likely turned on their distress beacon in order to lure us to this location. As we have been watching this footage, we have been giving them time to capture us in the same manner.”

            “Woah, woah, hold on. We don’t even know if that’s what really happened.”

            “I am inclined to believe it is so. The life readings I scanned from the planet were similar to beta brain waves from humans. It is likely that they subsist on particle and wave energy. It would be illogical for them to release the Marvel unless they no longer had any use for it.”

            “Okay, that doesn’t explain the magically shrinking planet.”

            “They held the ship captive in the center of their planet,” Uhura says.

            “Fine,” Jim concedes. “We’ll tow her over to the next sector and warn Star Fleet of our _concerns_. We can forward all relevant data to them, but I want to board that ship and find out what went down.”

            “Certainly. Captain, I suggest we make haste.”

            Spock is already out of his chair and at the door. Even though Jim feels sick and dizzy with nerves, he can’t help himself. “Spock, are you nervous?”

            “Nervous, Captain? Never.”

            When they arrive on the bridge, Jim’s heart is pounding hard and fast in his chest. Spock and Uhura hurry to their stations and Bones comes to stand behind Jim’s chair. “Okay, Mr. Sulu, let’s get Marvel in a tow and head over to the next sector.”

            “Sir?”

            “We’re getting out of here. No time to ask questions, let’s give ‘er.”

            Sulu nods and pushes a few buttons. Then he turns to face Jim. “I’m sorry sir, but I don’t have control of the ship.”

            “Excuse me? Manual control.”

            “Aye sir.” A beat. “Manual control isn’t working either sir.”

            “Of course not,” Jim groans, dropping his head to his hands. Now isn’t the time to feel sorry for oneself.

            “What I feared seems to be occurring,” Spock says.

            “Thanks for the newsflash,” Jim mutters under his breath. Immediately after, he wishes he could take it back, because if these are going to be their last moments together and sane, Jim doesn’t want that to be the final communication between the two of them. He bites his tongue, though, and tries to make a decision.

            “Captain,” Uhura says, “I’m getting a report from deck 2 of a crew member who is unconscious.”

            Jim hits the arm of his chair with a fist. “Shit. Bones, go take care of that.” McCoy is in the turbo lift in an instant.

            “Scotty,” Jim suddenly says, comming engineering. “I need you to keep an eye on the warp core. We’re getting into some sticky stuff.”

            “What kind of sticky stuff?”

            “I don’t know. Just be ready for anything.”

            “Aye, sir.”

            Jim stills for a second after cutting off his link to engineering. He takes a deep breath and recalls the footage they reviewed of the other ship. There’s no way he’s letting that happen to his crew. “Sir, we’re caught in a tractor beam,” Sulu says, sounding deceivingly calm.

            “Spock, I need to know how the tractor beam works. The science officer of Marvel suggested they used fission energy – that means where ever they’re making it, it’s going to over heat eventually, right?”

            “Assuming they are using means similar to those on Earth, yes. Although, it is possible they have find a way to utilize the heat produced as well.”

            Jim shuffles his feet on the floor. “How fast are we moving, and in what direction?”

            “Towards the planet. At half warp speed.”

            “The tractor beam is strong but has a small diameter. It is only locked on to our warp core,” Spock says. “If we eject the core, we may be able to escape the pull of the beam, but we will have to use impulse energy and will not be able to tow the Marvel.”

            “How long do we have until we’re in the planet’s orbit?” Jim asks, hoping he’s right in assuming that they won’t be pulled into the center of the planet until they’re reach its orbit.

            “Approximately 15 minutes, sir.”

            “And how long until we’re out of Marvel’s transportation range?”

            “8 minutes.”

            Jim taps the button on his arm rest to contact engineering once more. “Scotty, I need you to show me your stuff. There are 42 people on the Marvel and you have 8 minutes to get them all transported onto our ship. They’re all in…walking comas, so I’ll send medical up to assist. Then, you’ve got to eject the warp core.”

            “You want me to do what with the warp core?”

            “I want you to eject it.” Jim scrubs his face and winces. This is second time he’s had to perform such a trick on the Enterprise. Star Fleet is going to think he has a penchant for that sort of thing.

            “Aye, sir.”

            “Uhura, I need you to get all medical personnel up to the transporter room. Tell them they should be ready to receive 42 patients of unknown mental status.” After Uhura relays the order, it only takes one minute for Bones to arrive on the bridge.

            “What the Hell is going on? My sickbay is nowhere near big enough to handle that many people who can’t even shit for themselves.”

            “I don’t have time to argue logistics, Bones. Just make it happen.”

            “Jim, I don’t have enough staff!”

            “I don’t care! We’ve got to get out of here in the next 15 minutes or we’ll end up just like them. And we’re not leaving them. From here, it’ll only take us a day to get to Earth, so I just need you to manage it for 24 hours. Can you do that?”

            McCoy shakes a fist at Jim but turns to exit the bridge. “Sometimes I wish I never got on that shuttle with you,” he mutters.

            “Me, too. That was my favourite jacket.”

            “Captain, I’m beaming over the first group. I’m only doing 9 at a time – I don’t want to overtax the transporter.”

            “Sure, Scotty. Just get it done in time.”

            A yeoman standing by the view screen gets a blank look on her face and then crumples to the floor, her PADD clattering loudly as she falls.

            “Shit!” Jim flies out of his chair and kneels down next to her, rolling her so that she’s in the recovery position. She blinks a few times and opens her mouth experimentally.

            “Captain,” says a voice reminiscent of the one from the security footage of the Marvel. “You think you’re smart enough to escape us, but we’ve already taken three of your crew members. The weak ones are the easiest – but they last for the shortest amount of time. We will have all of you. 400 are far more than 40 and you will last us for much longer.”

            “You’ll not have any more of my crew,” Jim says, stepping back from the girl’s eerily slack body. Even as the words are spoken through her mouth, her body is still, as if she were dead.

            “What makes you think that you can escape, where none other has?”

            Jim watches two security guards pick up the yeoman’s limp body and represses a shudder. “Take her to sickbay,” he orders, waving a hand. “Get her out of here.” He leans against the wall and wipes a thin sheen of sweat from his brow. “How much longer until we’re out of transport range?”

            “1 minute, sir.”

            “Find out if Scotty’s done beaming them over yet. As soon as he is, I want the warp core ejected. The sooner we’re out of here, the better.”

            Seemingly, out of nowhere, Jim’s vision begins to blur. It feels as though someone is trying to enter his mind, similar to when Spock melds with him but far more invasive and far less pleasant. He feels a searing pain at the base of his neck and falls to his knees, gripping his head in his hands. _You will not escape._ Jim bites his tongue so hard it begins to bleed, but nothing’s registering beyond the pain in his skull. He drops onto his elbows and begins to scream. _You belong to us. You will_ feed _us. We know you, James Kirk._ He can’t see anything but darkness and he feels, suddenly, as though he will never be whole again. He’s weak and emptying as he falls to his stomach, so that he’s lying on the ground.

            Jim doesn’t notice when Spock is at his side, fingers pressing to his psi points. But he does feel the balm of Spock’s mind, pushing back the intruders. He can see and feel beyond his pain now, although it’s still more pain than he’s ever experienced. The voice that has been speaking to him in his mind fades beyond an almost silent whisper and Jim passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's taken the time to read this and leave comments or kudos. I really appreciate it!


	3. Scattered Patterns

            When he comes to, feeling fuzzy and unclear, Jim finds himself in his own bed. The cool room is dark and he’s been dressed in a pair of pyjamas that rarely ever see the light of the day. His head is throbbing, but other than that he feels fine – someone must have used a dermal regenerator on his tongue. In the back of his mind, he can just barely feel the ebbing of Spock’s calm mind and realises that his partner must be in the room next door meditating. Curious as to how long he’s been unconscious, Jim pushes the blankets back and stands on unsteady feet. He patters over the intercom to buzz the bridge.

            “Kirk to the bridge.”

            “Riley here, sir.”

            “How much longer until we reach Earth?”

            “12 hours sir.”

            He’s been asleep for 12 hours? Jim pushes the button to end his communication with the bridge and turns to lean his back against the wall. Any good Captain wouldn’t have passed out in the first place, but at least a decent Captain wouldn’t abandon their crew for 12 hours after such a harrowing experience. Jim stamps one of his bare feet on the floor and hisses angrily. In a hurry to ascertain what’s happened during his absence, Jim strips out of his pyjamas and dresses in a uniform without bothering to order the lights on. He can tell that Spock is still meditating, and he hates interrupting him, but he doesn’t have time to wait – he’s already wasted enough.

            He knocks on the door of Spock’s rarely used quarters. It’s a moment before Spock calls out for him to enter.

            “Jim,” he says from his spot on the floor, “You are aware you do not need my permission to enter.”

            “You were meditating. I’m sorry for interrupting you, but I’ve got to know what happened.”

            “Of course,” Spock says. He doesn’t rise from the floor, but pats the ground next to him. Jim squats down, leaning against the wall for support. “When you fell to the ground and screamed, I assumed that the Salundri had invaded your mind and hoped that I could save you with a mind meld. We were fortunate – when they decided to communicate with you in your mind, they could not consume your mental energy. It was the only reason I was able to force them out. If they had not taken the time to do so, I would have been too late, as we were with the other 5 crew members whom they consumed.”

            “Consumed?”

            “Yes, I have arrived at the conclusion that they require mental energy in the same way that our bodies require energy from the food we eat. It is sustenance for the Salundri.”

            “So, what happened?”

            “After they vacated your mind, you became unconscious and it was necessary for me to take command of the ship. You were removed to sickbay and I remained on the bridge to be sure of our escape. Mr. Scott was able to beam all 42 crew members over but the Marvel remains near Altanorch, as we were not able to tow it. I believe that without our mental energy, the Salundri will die out soon. After a short time, their extinction will allow Starfleet to return and reclaim their properly, should they wish to do so.

            “Once I was assured of the crew’s safety, I relinquished the conn to Lt. Sulu and went to the sickbay to ascertain your health. Dr. McCoy had decided to have you relocated to our quarters on the basis that he had ‘no room, damn it. This is a sickbay, not a hotel.’” Jim snorts at Spock’s flat rendition of Bones’ speech.

            “So I came here to see that you had already been re-dressed by someone, likely a nurse. I ensured you were comfortable and then I removed myself to my quarters in order to meditate. I have been here henceforth.”

            “Thanks for taking care of the ship. I feel like such a shit.”

            Spock raises an eyebrow. “You feel like a…?”

            “Like a loser. I can’t believe I wasn’t awake for any of that. So much could have gone wrong.”

            “Jim, I was extremely concerned about your condition. But I would like to remind you that I am capable of commanding the ship – I was, in fact, Captain of the Enterprise before you. You need not feel like “a shit” for being unconscious. Something which, I am sure you are aware, you have no control over. It is not your fault.”

            “Still…”

            “There is no still,” Spock says, rising to his feet. “How are you feeling? Are you hungry?”

            “Yeah,” Jim says, realizing that he actually feels famished. “Let’s go get something to eat. Then I should probably check in on the Motel d’ Bones.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “The sickbay.” 

* * *

 

            They’ve been docked at Earth, receiving repairs, for two weeks when they receive their next mission. A small group of 90 Vulcans is at a star base and needs transport from their location to New Vulcan. Jim stands in the Admiral’s office in his dress uniform and holds his cap behind his back. Next to him, Spock seems a little stiff.

            “I’m not sure why we need to provide transport, sir. There are shuttles and passenger ships for this kind of thing, right? I thought we were supposed to be heading out past the charted galaxy.”

            “And you will, after this small favour.”

            “Why the Enterprise?” Jim doesn’t want to sound discourteous or unresponsive to the Vulcan’s needs, but he’s shocked at the order to become a school bus.

            “They are a science team from the VulcanAcademy. They have requested transport on your ship, and your timely presence here makes that possible. You are to retrieve them tomorrow at 1000 Earth standard and make the drop at New Vulcan immediately – no stops in between. Then you will continue on your original course. Understood?”

            The Admiral’s tone leaves no room for questions, so Jim can do nothing but nod curtly before turning and marching out of the room, Spock at his heels.

            “It is strange that they would specifically request the Enterprise for transportation,” Spock says, keeping up with Jim’s swift gait with ease.

            “I want to know why,” Jim says. “There’s got to be a reason. Maybe it’s because of you. You think?”

            “I do not think my presence on the ship warrants the request. We may not know until we arrive at the star base and the passengers are onboard.”

            Jim nods and flips open his communicator. “Time to beam us up,” he says.

* * *

 

            When Jim lets himself into his quarters, Spock’s rifling through the contents of a shelf, obviously looking for something. He’s been remarkably tense since the arrival of the other Vulcans, but with their arrival at New Vulcan closing fast, Jim is feeling a sense of relief, even if Spock hasn’t noticed it yet. Jim quietly tip-toes over to where Spock is still hunched and wraps his arms around Spock, letting his hands come to rest low on his abdomen.

            “Hello Jim,” Spock says, continuing his search even as Jim pushes his hands beneath Spock’s uniform and undershirt against the cool skin. He runs his hands languidly up and down Spock’s stomach a few times, but stops to rest them on his hips when he receives no response.

            “I thought we could play strip chess tonight,” Jim says, leaning forward to mumble into Spock’s shoulder. They haven’t been intimate at all, in any sense of the word, in the last four days and Jim’s not surprised to find himself missing his partner’s touch. He understands that, being around other Vulcans, Spock is behaving more in accordance to his logical upbringing, but that doesn’t mean Jim likes it.

            “I cannot,” Spock says, turning to face Jim. He has a book in his hand – it seems he’s found what he’s looking for.

            “Why?”

            “I have promised to converse with Volar in regards to my research.”

            “What research?”

            Spock shrugs. “He did not specify where his curiosity lies. I do not know what he will ask me about. Our conversation may last for multiple hours.”

            Jim nods and lets Spock extricate himself for Jim’s loose grasp before exiting the room. Unwilling to spend the rest of his night brooding over and in Spock’s absence, he decides to round up the guys and see if he can’t rope them into an impromptu game of cards. It’s barely an hour before Sulu, Scotty, Chekov, Bones, and Jim are in a conference room, gathered around one of the smaller tables with more contraband than Jim could shake a stick at.

            “Are you even old enough to drink this?” Scotty asks, even as he pours a cup and hands it to Chekov.

            Jim takes a careful sip of the unnamed liquor and has to repress a full body shiver. “Ugh. What is this stuff?”

            “It’s a secret,” Sulu says, smiling coyly at his Captain.

            “Besides,” Scotty says, slipping the bottle under his chair, “if we told you, you’d be responsible. The less you know, the better off you are.”

            Jim nods his head, his friends are right. He _is_ better off not knowing…he’s probably better off not _drinking_ the stuff, either, but it’s too late now.

            “Be careful,” Bones warns out of the side of his mouth while the others are arguing over what game to play. “You don’t really know your limits in this body yet.”

            “Thanks, mom.”

            “Don’t be such a child. Spock will kill me if I let you get sick.”

            “He’ll just roll his eyes at me.”

            “Do Vulcans do that?”

            “Not really, no,” Jim shrugs his shoulders. “Alright, boys, what’s the game?”

            “Texas Hold ‘em,” Sulu says, shuffling the deck.

            “At home,” Chekov says, “We call this Russian Hold Them.”

            Scotty snorts. “You are so full of shite.”

            “Alright, alright, no brawling. Just deal the cards. What’s the big blind?”

Sulu begins to deal the cards around the table. “Let’s see who’s got the biggest pockets.”

            “Seriously,” Bones says, “this booze is terrible.”

            “I’m pretty sure Captains make the most,” Scotty says, ignoring McCoy’s insult.

                       After five games, Jim has lost more money than is wise and the room is starting to tilt precariously from side to side. “You want another?” Scotty asks. Jim’s not sure how there’s still liquid left in that bottle, and shakes his head in slight confusion.

            “I’m tapped,” he mumbles, leaning back in his chair heavily. His body feels like sand in the seat and it’s hard for him to keep all of his limbs organized.

            “I think that’s a night for the Captain,” Sulu says, a quiet chuckle barely disguised.

            “Come on Jim, I’ll take you to your room.” Bones puts a hand on Jim’s shoulder and, at the touch, Jim slides down further in his chair.

            “Maybe I’ll just sleep here,” Jim says, letting his eyes start to flutter shut.

            “No, no, come on. Get up.” The doctor grips Jim under his armpits and hauls him up to his feet, which shuffle unaccommodatingly underneath of his body. Jim leans forward and whispers, rather loudly and conspiratorially in Bones’ ear.

            “I think I drank too much.”

            There’s a guffaw that goes around the table when Bones raises his eyebrow and nods. “You think so?” Bones turns to the other three who are trying to look disinterested in their Captain’s state. “You guys make sure this mess is cleaned up,” he says, before goose stepping Jim out of the room.

            Once they’re out of the room, Jim stops walking. “I feel a little dizzy,” he says, putting his hand against the wall to support himself. “Who turned off the gravity?”

            “Nobody did, you fool. You’re wasted.”

            “I didn’t even drink that much.”

            “You weigh less now, you idiot. And you haven’t built up a tolerance yet.”

            “What if I puke?” Jim asks, his voice cracking.

            “You’re not gonna puke. If you puke, I’ll punch you.” Bones bends down and scoops Jim up with ease. Jim, for his part, crumples into a small mess in his friend’s arms.

            “You puked on me once,” Jim says, letting his eyes close as they move through the ship towards a lift.

            “Yeah, you’ve more than paid me back for that, thank you,” Bones grunts. “You’re never gonna hear the end of this, you know.” Jim’s already snoring when the lift stops on deck 6. Bones carries him to his bedroom and keys in the entry code to open the door, shuffling sideways through to avoid hitting Jim’s lolling head.

            “Doctor,” Spock says, from the table, “I did not expect Jim back until later. Your card games often take much longer.” Spock rises, looks at Jim for a moment and then holds his hands out to relieve McCoy of his load.

            “He drank a little much,” McCoy admits sheepishly. “I told him to stop but-“

            Spock has his back to McCoy as he lowers Jim onto their bed. “I appreciate your effort, but it is not your responsibility to ensure that Jim maintains a professional demeanour. He is a grown man who makes his own choices, and he apparently chose to become extremely intoxicated.”

            “Right, well, I’ll just go, then,” McCoy says, backing out of the room.

            “Of course, good evening, Doctor.” Spock still hasn’t turned to look at him as Bones vacates the space.

            “Spock?” Jim asks as the Vulcan undresses him.

            “You have allowed yourself to become unduly inebriated,” Spock says without too much judgment. “I am preparing you for sleep.”

            “You still love me, don’t you?” Jim asks, gripping the fabric of Spock’s shirt in a limp fist.

            “Your intoxication does not mitigate my affection for you.”

            “I mean, ‘cause I’m a girl, you know. You don’t like Volar better, do you?”

            Spock slips Jim’s pants off and adjusts his body on the bed, atop the covers. “I do not prefer Volar’s company to yours,” he says, dropping Jim’s clothes into the laundry shoot, “Nor did I cease caring for you when I discovered you had a vagina instead of a penis.” Jim laughs quietly into his pillow and rolls onto his stomach, snoring lightly once more.

             The next morning, when he wakes, Jim’s body feels kind of like it’s made of jelly and he’s covered in an oily layer of sweat. He rolls over to find Spock nestled in the comforter next to him, flicking through the contents of a PADD.

            “Did you sleep well?”

            “I feel like death,” Jim says, sliding his tongue along the roof of his mouth.

            Spock shrugs. “You imbibed a large quantity of alcohol last night for the first time in your female form. I am not astonished that you are suffering the ill effects now.”

            “It’s called a hangover.”

            “I am aware of the human colloquialism. That does not mean I will use it.”

            Jim curls into a ball and rests his head on Spock’s side so that he can feel his partner’s heartbeat against his forehead.

            “I lost a lot of money last night,” he admits, kicking the covers away from his body.

            “It is a good thing, then, that you are not generally able to spend money while on duty.”

            “That’s what you think.”

            “Yes, it is.”

            “So when did you get back last night?” Jim rolls over to find a glass of water on the nightstand. He swallows the entire thing in one go and sets it down heavily.

            “I was present when Dr. McCoy delivered you to our quarters. I removed your clothing and ensured you did not sleep on the floor – which you informed me of your longing to do three times.”

            “Really? I don’t remember much after I lost the fourth game.”

            “Again, I am not overly astonished by this fact. Dr. McCoy carried you to our quarters and apologized for allowing you to consume so much liquor.”

            Jim groans. “He’s never going to let me forget that.”

            “It is not likely that he will stop bringing to subject up for some time.”

            “So why were you back here so early? I thought you and Volar were going to be talking all night?”

            Spock stiffens slightly and shifts his legs. “I ceased discussions with Volar before I had expected to.”

            “What happened?”

            “He desired to discuss topics of a more personal matter than I deigned reasonable.”

            “What do you mean? What did he want to talk about?”

            “It became apparent to me while conversing with Volar that the science team requested transport aboard the Enterprise because they wished to study your personal situation. You are very popular in the science community of the Federation, although the majority of the details of your case have been kept confidential. Volar made many inappropriate inquiries about your condition – I believe that his questions were beyond mere scientific interest.”

            Jim shrugs his shoulders, even though he feels a slight chill. “I mean, it is weird.”

            “I do not care. I did not wish to discuss my sexual endeavours with him.”

            “He asked about our sex life?”

            “Yes. And I do not believe he asked out of pure scientific interest. I informed him that the topic of conversation was inappropriate and absented myself from his presence. He did not pursue me and Dr. McCoy found me thus, in our room last night.”

            Jim shrugs once more and presses himself into Spock’s warmth. “Thanks for taking care of me last night.”

            “Certainly.”

* * *

 

                     “I’ve had boobs for three months and I’m already tired of wearing these things,” Jim says, tugging on the band of his bra. McCoy frowns at him from across the table. “I’m serious. How do women wear these for like…70 years?”

            “Some women don’t wear them at all, but I wouldn’t suggest it.”

            “Ugh. I just love going to bed at the end of the day and taking this shit off.”

            “I don’t really want to talk about your boobs.”

            “Huh?”

            “In my mind, you don’t have boobs. You’re just a dude.”

            “Bones, you can’t just pretend I don’t have a girl’s body.”

            “I can, and I do. It doesn’t change anything either way.”

            Jim laughs and swallows the last of his coffee. “Whatever, I still hate this thing.”

            “If you keep talking about your bra, I’m going to leave.”

            “Aren’t you supposed to be on shift, anyways?”

            Bones shrugs. “Talking to you is the hardest work I have to do all day.”

            Jim kicks him under the table. “I’m going to the bridge. Some of us actually _work_ when we’re on shift.”

            “Whatever, I’m going.”

            Jim and the doctor part ways at the lift and Jim finds himself alone in the small space. He adjusts his undergarment once more before the lift stops at the bridge.

            “Captain on the bridge!” Chekov says, nodding at Jim as he steps on.

            “Thanks, man. How’s everything going up here?”

            “Everything normal, sir. We’re within the Bivolan Veil and scanning now.”

            “Anything out of the ordinary so far?” Jim asks, turning to the science station.

            “No, sir,” a young Lt. says, leaning back from the scanner.

            “Alright, well, keep scanning and make sure you let me know what you find. We’re the first Federation ship out here, so there’s no telling what we could find.” The Lt. nods and turns back to the scanner. 

            “Sir, I am reading a transmission from a class P planet,” Uhura says.

            “What’s it saying?”

            “I’ve never heard the language before. I’m running it through a translator right now. I’ll alert you as soon as I know more.”

            “Alright, let’s get to that planet,” Jim says. “Mr. Sulu, take us in and assume standard orbit until we know what’s going on.”

            “Yes, sir.” Jim watches on the view screen as they pull closer to the small planet, approximately ¼ the size of Earth. It looks almost entirely white with snow and ice, a bright dot in the middle of the galaxy’s darkness. Jim sighs and rests his cheek on a fist – sometimes, when you live aboard a starship, it’s too easy to forget just how amazing space really is.

            “You think there might be some humanoids on there?” Jim asks, not really talking to anyone in particular.

            “It’s certainly a possibility, sir,” Uhura says, her fingers clicking rhythmically at her board.

            “It’s insane,” Jim says, “You travel so far, and you find people so much like you.”

            “I think they’ll be a little different, sir,” the science Lt. says. “They’re on an ice age planet.”

            Jim laughs, “Yeah, that’s true.”

            “I think I’ve figured out the meaning of the message, sir,” Uhura says.

            “And what is it?”

            “I still can’t understand the exact meaning, but it seems to be a monitoring beacon. It’s sending out a standard message every five minutes.”

            “Who would put a monitoring beacon on a class P planet? And who would have put it there? We’re the first Starfleet ship to come out here.”

            “Excuse me, sir, but there are warp capable species that aren’t part of the federation,” a blond ensign says from her post.

            “Right,” Jim nods at her. “That’s true. So, we investigate. Who could it be?”

            “Maybe if we knew what the inhabitants were like, it would give us a better idea of who was studying them and why.”

            “Right, which is why we’re beaming down. Have Mr. Spock and Dr. McCoy meet me in the transporter room with a security team. We should have an additional science officer for record taking,” Jim says to Uhura as he heads to the lift.

            “Yes sir.”

            In the transporter room, the crew is already bundled in ice weather gear. Spock holds out a thick jacket for Jim to shrug on. “We’ve got to be careful,” Jim says, zipping up the front. “We don’t know how advanced or basic these people are. We can’t interfere with their natural pattern of development.”

            “Are you citing regulation?” Bones asks.

            “I’d rather not lose command of the same ship twice,” Jim says, his shrug barely visible beneath his coat.

            “What the Captain says is true. The prime directive –“

            “Spock! We all know what the prime directive is,” Bones huffs.

            “I’ve locked onto coordinates where there are no discernable life signs. You should be right near an entrance to an underground cavern – our scans show the weather is particularly hostile right now.”

            “It’s windy,” Jim says out of the side of his mouth to Bones. He ignores his friend’s grunt. “Energize.”

            When they re-materialize, Jim decides that Starfleet clearly doesn’t understand how cold ice age planets are. He pulls his coat more tightly around his body and waves his arms to guide the away team into the cave they’ve appeared next to. The wind is kicking up snow and debris and it’s difficult to see each other – there’s no point in trying to yell. Once they’re all inside the cave and their visibility has cleared, Jim brushes off his coat. “This is ridiculous. What would anyone want to do with a planet like this? It’s worse that Delta Vega.”

            “That would be correct,” Spock says. “Delta Vega is technically a class M planet. We are on a class P planet.”

            “Okay, well let’s figure out what’s so important about this planet that someone, somewhere decided to monitor it.” Jim begins to head further into the cave, pulling a light baton off of his belt.

            “Captain, are you positive it is wise to enter the tunnels?”

            “No, I’m not. But there’s no other way to find out what’s down there. And I know that we’re not going to find our answer above ground.” He flips open his communicator. “Mr. Scott, I want you find out how those monitoring beacons are able to communicate from underground.”

            “I’ll do what I can.”

            Jim nods and flips it shut once more. “We won’t be able to communicate with the ship once we’re deep enough, so I want you to stay up here,” he points to one of the security officers. “If we haven’t checked in within an hour, contact the ship and request more security.”

            “Yes sir.”

            Jim waves at the others. “Let’s go find out what’s lurking down there.”

            “Why did you bring me?” Bones asks, beating his half working light baton with a loose fist.

            “Who knows what we’re going to find down here? I might need you.”

            “You might not.” He smacks the flickering baton once more. “Damn it! This stuff’s supposed to be tested before we leave.”

            Spock silently holds out a hand and takes the baton from Bones, tightening its base connector. “I believe that the device should work more efficiently now, Doctor.”

            “Thanks.”

            After walking in relative silence for the next few moments, the group comes to a split in the tunnel. Both of the new divisions are lower than the tunnel that they are currently in, so Jim squats to peer down one shaft and then the other. “Can you get any readings?” he asks Spock. The Vulcan shakes his head.

            “Alright, let’s split up. Spock, you and the doctor go that way, and I’ll take lieutenants Royce and Burlstiene with me. Hopefully these will reconnect eventually. We meet back here in 45 minutes no matter what we find, got it?”

            Spock and Dr. McCoy nod and crouch to crawl into one of the shafts and Jim leads the way into the other one. It’s short but wide and Jim finds it easy enough not to feel claustrophobic in the space. He holds his baton in one hand and watches the light bob in the distance. The beam goes on until it fades, Jim can’t see a spot where it hits an obstacle of any kind – neither wall nor rock cut the light off. “Keep scanning,” Jim commands Lt. Royce. “Give your baton to Burlstiene and focus on the tricorder,” he says.

            “Yes, sir,” the young woman promptly follows his orders.

            “And let me know when it’s been twenty minutes.”

            “Of course, sir.”

            There’s a quiet drip of liquid somewhere in the distance, but otherwise their shuffling movement is the only sound in the tunnel. Jim listens carefully for Spock’s and Bones’ banter, hoping that their tunnels will meet sooner rather than later. He hates splitting up the away team, especially when they’re facing such drastic unknowns.

            “Sir?” Lt. Royce pulls him from his own thoughts.

            “What is it?” Jim slows a little, but doesn’t stop to listen.

            “I’m reading life signs on my tricorder. They’re extremely similar to humans – temperature a little higher and heartbeat a little slower, but otherwise remarkably close.”

            “How many?”

            “We’re not close enough for me to definitively answer, but I would guess, at least fifty.”

            “Fifty? Where?”

            “Approximately ten km from of our location.”

            “Ten? It would take us forever to get there like this. Think you can pinpoint it?”

            “No sir, I can’t. But I can scan the area around us and make a rough map of the tunnels. It wouldn’t be perfect, but perhaps then we’d have a better idea of where they could be located.”

            “Do it, and then let’s get back to the meeting point and see what Dr. McCoy and Commander Spock found.”

            The trek back feels longer as Jim follows behind his lieutenants, allowing his mind to wander. Fifty is a rather small number, but it’s possible the tricorder is malfunctioning. It’s also possible that this is only a small portion of a much larger population living even deeper in the tunnels. When they finally make it out of the small tunnel, Jim stands and stretches, revelling in the popping of his joints. Bones and Spock are noticeably absent. “How much time is left in our 45 minutes?” Jim asks.

            “5 minutes, sir.”

            “Alright, take a seat, start seeing what you can figure out with those scans.”

            The Lt. stays standing but fiddles with her tricorder. The security Lt. looks uncomfortable with nothing to do but wait, his hands twirling both light batons anxiously.

            “Everything alright, Burlstiene?”

            “Absolutely, sir. Just wondering about all this, is all.”

            Jim is starting to feel warm and unzips the front of his jacket. Spock and Bones still aren’t back and while he wouldn’t put it past the doctor to stop for a nap, Spock is almost never late.

            “Maybe they found something,” Burlstiene says, seeming to read his Captain’s thoughts.

            “Maybe something found them,” Royce says, not looking up from her tricorder.

            Jim flinches. Science makes people far too blunt. He knows that their five minute limit isn’t up yet, but he’s struggling not to fidget. “Burlstiene, I want you and Royce to go back to Lt. Peele and let him know we’re still alive.”

            “Sir,” Royce says haltingly, “I think if we put our communicators on a lower frequency, we may be able to communicate with each other, at least.”

            “Why didn’t you tell me before?” Jim says, trying not to sound angry. “It could have saved us a lot of time and trouble.”

            “I’m sorry, but I didn’t think of it. It’s just, there’s some low frequency wave coming through on my tricorder right now. It’s the first time I’ve registered anything other than those life forms.”

            Jim tunes his communicator to the lowest frequency and instructs the others to do the same before comming Royce. His voice comes through on her communicator, although it’s difficult to make much out – it’s better than nothing. “I’m going into the tunnels to find Spock and McCoy. Go back to Peele and see if you can find out anything from Mr. Scott. If anything happens, let me know.” He shakes his communicator at them before turning to squat in the tunnel. “See you soon,” he mutters, crawling into the darkness.

            After Jim’s been crawling for a few moments, his communicator beeps. He fumbles to remove the device from his belt and brings it up to his face, crawling with the hand that grips his light baton.

            “Kirk here.”

            “Captain it’s…I’ve figured out ho-…If you can make…I’ve let the others…” It’s clearly Scotty’s voice on the other end, but not enough is coming through – Jim can’t make any sense of the message.

            “Scotty, Mr. Scott! I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

            “What’s th-…breaking…”

            “Just give the message to Royce. She’ll relay it to me when I return.” Jim closes his communicator, knowing there’s no further use for it in the tunnel. When he looks up, it’s impossible for him to contain his expletive. “Shit…”

            The tunnel has opened into a wide cavern, reminiscent of an underground arena. There, milling about, are the approximately 50 life forms that Royce detected. They look humanoid, at least, though a little stouter than Jim’s used to. There’s something familiar about their rounded faces, but Jim can’t be sure what’s sparking his memory at the moment. They are dressed in ill fitting, worn clothing and wander about talking to each other in an unfamiliar language. On the far end of the room, Jim spots two blue Starfleet issue jackets. There’s a drop from the tunnel to the ground which looks to be about seven feet. Jim shuffles over the edge and hangs on, stretching his body out as much as he can before dropping. There’s a shock of slight pain that lances through his ankles upon landing, but nothing seems permanently wounded. He glances around, but nobody seems to be paying him any mind, so he jogs the distance to his friends.

            McCoy notices him first and raises a hand to wave Jim over.

            “What’s going on?” Jim asks, brushing his hair out of his face.

            “Mr. Spock is just asking these people that very question,” Bones says, as Spock continues to speak to one of the humanoids in hushed tones. He has adapted the guttural language well and Jim blinks, watching his partner’s mouth form around the unfamiliar words.

            “Why didn’t you come back on time?” Jim asks. He crosses his arms and lets a hip drop, hoping his friend will take his meaning. It’s not like any of his crew to disobey an order, especially when they know he’ll worry because of their doing so.

            “On time?” McCoy asks. “What do you mean?”

            “I told you to be back at the meet point in 45 minutes.”

            “What meet point?”

            “Where the tunnels diverged. Remember, we split up?” Jim shakes his head. Is it possible he’s remembering things incorrectly?

             “Captain,” Spock says, concluding his conversation. “I apologize for our lateness. I have been unable to vacate the premises with Dr. McCoy.”

            “Why would you want to leave?” Bones asks.

            “What’s going on?” Jim asks.

            “When we arrived, we found this group of humanoids.”

            “They’re humanoids?”

            “Yes, sir, of the Homo genus. When we arrived, we still had 30 minutes and I encouraged the doctor to join me in a swift investigation so that we would have some matter of factual information when we regrouped. However, upon departure from the tunnel, we were approached by a being…ah, like her.” Jim turns to see a tall, slender being, purple in color with large unblinking eyes moving towards them. Apparently a female, the creature has no traditional gender identifiers. Her body is stick like in appearance and she wears a sheer, white tunic and slacks on her tripedal body. “She injected Dr. McCoy and me with an unknown substance. It has not had any apparent effect on me, but Dr. McCoy seems to have forgotten anything which will encourage him to want to leave. I impress upon you the importance of not allowing her to inject you with anything.”

            “We’ve got to get out of here, fast. We’ve got to get back to the others,” Jim says, wrapping an arm around Bones. He begins to tug his friend towards the tunnel entrance, but the doctor is sagging uncooperatively in his grip. “Did you find anything out?” Spock comes to take Bones’ other side and with the two of them, the doctor is an easy load to bear.

            “Where are we going, Jim?” Bones asks, though he sounds more curious than upset.

            “For a walk. Now shut up.”

            “I did, in fact, make a few discoveries while we awaited your arrival. I believe we will be better served if we discuss them after our escape.”

            Jim thinks that Spock’s use of the term “escape” was an odd choice. So far, the only being paying them any mind is the purple female, and she’s merely following them at a leisurely pace. She isn’t bothering to decrease the distance between them, nor has she called out to stop them. Jim hears her say something a couple of times; he’s not sure what it means, but it sounds like “Caleemishverigh.” However, as they begin to near the tunnel entrance, Bones starts shuffling his feet, digging his heels into the dirt beneath them.

            “Stop being so annoying,” Jim says, lifting the doctor so that his feet can’t touch the ground.

            “I don’t want to leave!” McCoy shouts. The humanoids milling about are beginning to take note of them as well. A few have turned towards the trio and are starting to amble casually their way. There’s also a small cluster beneath the entrance which could make a quick exit difficult if they wanted to.

            “Last time I attempted to vacate the premises, this occurred also. They will not resort to violence, but will simply attempt to halt our motions. I hoped with your presence, also, we would be able to circumvent them. Perhaps I will carry the doctor, and you can clear a path.”

            So Jim lets Spock take on McCoy’s now protesting weight and sweeps out his arms to spread out the group in front of them. The people move immediately away from his arms, but begin to encroach as soon as Jim drops them. He has to continuously wave his limbs to clear the path for Spock and Bones. When they finally reach the entrance, Spock has a difficult time boosting Jim up while keeping Bones from wandering away.

            “I told you, I don’t want to go!” the doctor shouts more vehemently.

            “I don’t care what you want,” Jim says, kneeling over the edge and extending his hands. Spock is trying to boost McCoy up so that Jim can grip onto him and pull him up, but the doctor is being particularly difficult. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim can see the purple being closing in on them. He ignores the quickening of his heartbeat and flexes his fingers. “Come on, Bones, do it for me. Come on, give me your hands.”

            “Fuck you!”

            Spock gives up on spatial propriety and grips McCoy around his waist, lifting him bodily so that Jim can reach him. As the doctor gives a fairly vicious flail, Jim grips onto his hands and yanks. He manages to haul Bones up and over the edge, but the doctor kicks out and smashes the heel of his foot against Spock’s nose. Green begins to blossom from his nostrils, but Spock ignores it, jumping and reaching so that Jim can help him up as well. Once in the tunnel, Bones continues to moan about being made to leave, but stays with Jim easily enough.

            “Are you okay?” Jim asks, watching Spock press his forearm to his nose in an attempt to staunch the blood flow.

            “His physical strength seems to be greater than usual, but I will recover. He did not break my nose,” Spock says, raising an eyebrow at Jim’s concern.

            “Okay,” Jim says, gripping Bones’ upper arm and pushing him ahead. “Let’s get back and you can tell me what’s going on here.”

            Bones shuffles along in front and behind him, Jim can hear Spock’s tricorder tapping against his light baton as he crawls onwards. “I was worried about you,” Jim says.

            “That is understandable.”

            Jim rolls his eyes and silence falls between the three of them until they reach the end of the tunnel. Jim guides Bones to the cavern where the rest of the away team is waiting for them. “Okay, Spock, tell us what’s going on here.”

            “My tricorder readings indicate that the life forms present are Homo neanderthalensis.”

            “Neanderthals?”

            “Precisely.”

            “But how is that possible?” Royce asks. “Where did they come from?”

            “You will recall that in 2017, a team of human scientists discovered evidence upon the moon of interference by an unidentified species.” Jim nods. “It was believed that genetic testing had been performed upon some of Earth’s earliest inhabitants, likely Homo habilis or Paranthropus aethiopicus. However, upon scanning these Neanderthals, I believe that they were the creatures abducted from Earth and tested upon.”

            “You think that purple creature is the being that performed genetic testing on our moon?”

            “If not the specific being, then certainly of the same species.”

            “But they’d have to be hundreds of thousands of years old,” Royce says.

            ‘They are, in fact, only 45,000 years old,” Spock says, as though it’s perfectly normal for a humanoid to live for millennia.

            “How is that possible?” Jim asks.

            Bones lets out a huff and collapses onto a loose rock. “I don’t feel well,” he says. His face is sweating more than he should be, given the cold climate, and he looks paler than he did just moments ago.

            “Let’s get your coat off,” Jim says. He unzips the jacket and pushes it off of the doctor, who still has multiple layers underneath to keep him warm. “Is it the drug?” he asks, turning to Spock.

            “Indeed. The compound with which Dr. McCoy has been injected is the answer to both of your questions, I believe. I am under the impression that it creates docility in the victim and also indefinitely halts the aging process, as long as it is administered frequently enough.”

            “Is he going to be okay?”

            “I do not know what the effect will be, as he is not receiving regular doses.”

            Jim groans. “We need to get him back to the ship, and now. We’ll figure this out on board.” He pushes Bones’ arms back into his jacket, ignoring the man’s feeble protests and lifts him with Spock’s assistance. “Let the Enterprise know we’re ready to beam up and we need a medical team ready to receive Dr. McCoy.”

            Once on board the ship, Dr. M’Benga straightens McCoy on a transport bed and hurries him out of the room with Jim and Spock at his heels. “What happened?”

            “He’s been injected with an unknown substance,” Jim says, frowning at McCoy’s shallow breaths and fluttering eyelids. “We don’t know what it’s doing to him.”

            “Okay,” M’Benga stops at the turbo lift. “There’s not much you can do for him now. I’ll let you know as soon as there’s any change.”

            As much as he loathes letting his friend go, Jim’s aware that he’ll only be a nuisance. There’s also a mystery planet with a mystery species keeping mysterious hostages waiting to be discussed. “Let’s get Lt. Royce to meet us in conference room four. We need to figure this out.”

            “I do not think there is much more to discuss. I have hypothesised the origin of the Neanderthals and the reason for their presence on the planet.”

            “There’s still a lot to discuss. Get Royce, Mr. Scott, and Uhura and meet me in the conference room in five minutes.”

            “Of course, Captain.”

            Jim watches Spock walk away and then hustles over to comm panel on the wall. A nurse answers in the sickbay. “Ask Dr. M’Benga if a sample of the compound would help him.”

            The nurse turns but M’Benga is already approaching the screen. He brushes her aside politely and overtakes the visual field. “Dr. McCoy’s state was rapidly deteriorating. I’ve put him into a medically induced coma which has halted the effects of the drug. He’s in stable condition now, but I don’t know how long it will last. I _have_ to know what he’s been given in order to combat it. A sample wouldn’t just help; it’s our only hope right now.


	4. The Challenges We Face

            Jim meets the other four crew members in the conference room where they’re already sitting, waiting for him. He sets himself in a chair and looks around at the concerned faces (plus one impassive Vulcan stare) before rubbing his palms over his thighs. “Okay, I need answers, and I need them now. Please, someone tell me they’ve got something for me.” Spock opens his mouth. “Besides what we already know,” Jim quickly qualifies, holding a hand up. Usually, he’s perfectly content to hear whatever Spock has to say, but he knows exactly what his partner is going to communicate and he doesn’t have time to revisit known facts. “Scotty, did you figure out how those monitoring beacons are working?”

            “Aye, I did. The thing is, we were assuming that they were sending out a message or frequency to another planet. But they’re not.”

            “Who is the frequency going to?” Jim asks.

            “It’s a short distance, low frequency wave. Its purpose is to reach ships close to or in the planet’s orbit.”

            “What is the message on the beacon?” Jim asks, turning to Uhura. “Were you able to translate it?”

            “No sir, but I recorded it. I can play it for you.” Jim nods at her and she taps a button on her display pad. At first there’s nothing but static, and then a familiar, almost ethereal voice comes through, speaking loudly, over the static.

            Jim knows he can’t be right, but it sounds just like what the purple being was repeating in the cavern. _“Caleemishverigh.”_

            “What is that?” Jim hisses, trying not to allow himself to feel the frustration bubbling in his chest.

            “That is the language that the Neanderthals speak,” Spock says. “If I may, I used my tricorder and attempted to interpret and learn the basics. I was able to communicate effectively with three of the cavern’s inhabitants. Perhaps if you will play the message once more, I will be able to roughly translate it.”

            Uhura replays the message and everyone looks at Spock expectantly.

            “It’s what she was saying to me when we left,” Jim urges.

            After a few moments of silence, Spock finally nods. “Yes, I believe it is saying “Kaliim ash V’Rai,” which means “Come to me,”.”

            “Why would they be sending out the message every five minutes to any ship within range?” Uhura asks.

            “Because, they’re running out of lab rats,” Jim says.

            “Yes,” Spock says. He steeples his fingers together, resting his wrists on the edge of the table. “One of the people I spoke with mentioned that her mate had died, but I was not sure if I was translating correctly. Now, though, I understand. They are becoming immune to the drug and are dying. I was informed that they were originally a tribe of 300. If I understood correctly, and if that is true, that means that they have diminished to less than one quarter of their original population.”

            “That’s terrible,” Uhura says.

            “They have been alive and likely undergoing tests for 45,000 years. I believe they are not disturbed by the possibility of an end to life.”

            “Okay, undeniably long life span aside, this drug is doing something to our doctor. We need to get down there and get a sample of it – as much of it as we can.”

            “I’d like to volunteer,” Uhura says, “I would love to be able to hear more of the language.”

            “I’m sorry, no,” Jim says, already rising in his seat. “We can’t risk anyone who isn’t essential to the mission. I’m not having any more of my crew suffer the ill effects of that drug.” Uhura looks disappointed but nods all the same. “Scotty, can you rig a communicator to the same frequency as that beacon?”

            “I already have, sir, two of them.”

            Jim turns to Royce. “Were you able to get a map of those caverns?”

            “Yes, much better than I expected.” She presses a button on her data pad and flips it so that Jim can see what she’s talking about. “This is the cavern where you found Mr. Spock and Dr. McCoy. Just off the side here is a large antechamber. I think, if you’re going to find a stock of the drug anywhere, it will be there. Other than the cavern, it’s the largest space I found evidence of.”

            Jim nods. “Perfect. We’ll beam directly there and hopefully, we can get the drug and beam directly out. The less contact we have with them, the better.”

             Scotty is unsure, but in the end, he heeds to Jim’s “superior knowledge” and beams the Captain and his second in command to the antechamber. Once they materialize, Jim is unsure if his plan was certainly the best one.

            “Captain, I do not believe this is the room we intended to arrive in.” The space is indeed a large antechamber, but it isn’t – as they assumed it would be – a laboratory or medical room. The walls are lined with massive tube like structures which span the floor to the ceiling and contain the purple beings. They seem to be suspended in a thick, pinkish liquid, but it’s difficult to be certain.

            “Well, it is a storage room,” Jim sighs, putting his hand to phaser. “We’ve got to find out where they keep that drug.”

            Spock is walking up to one of the tubes. He extends a tentative hand, then – seeming to think better of it – stops short and pulls out his tricorder. “Jim, there is no glass or other solid structure encasing this liquid. I cannot discern what is holding it together.”

            “You mean, it’s just floating there?”

            “Perhaps these discs on the ceiling and floor create some sort of energy field which encases it?” Spock sounds unsure of himself.

            “I know it’s fascinating,” Jim says, opening a cabinet to look inside, “but we haven’t got time for this right now. We’ve got to find that drug and get out of here.”

            “Of course,” Spock says, shaking himself. “My apologies.”

            “I really don’t want to go back out there, that whack job might try to inject me again. But if we can’t find what we’re looking for in here, we’ll have to check out some of the smaller rooms.”

            “How can you be assured that she is not already aware of our presence? If we are surrounded by the Neanderthal populace, it will be harder for her to locate and inject you than it would be, secluded and alone in this space.”

            Jim nods. “Sure, but let’s make sure we search every crevice in here first. I don’t want to risk missing anything.”

            It takes less than five minutes to search the room – there are few storage containers and nothing inside of them. Jim huffs in frustration but cedes to Spock’s logic. “Okay, let’s go. You lead the way.” They sprint through the small sea of people and are in a smaller, more promising, room in seconds. “This looks more like it,” Jim says, opening a large container. There’s a hiss of released air as the lid pops off and Jim steps back. “I found it,” he says, holding his nose. He’s never smelled anything so horrible.

            “As did I,” Spock says. The room is full of barrel-like containers of the bubbling liquid and with just two of them open, the room is starting to fill with the stench.

            “I think I’m gonna be sick,” Jim says, pressing the lid back onto his container. “Two of these should be plenty. Let’s get this back up to the ship and get the hell out of here.”

            “Of course.”

            Jim can hear a familiar voice just outside of their room. “Damn it, that's them. Let’s go.” He tries to stop himself, but he can’t help bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

            The voice is getting closer and Jim is able to make out the phrase. “Kaliim ash V’Rai.”

            “Spock? Have you gotten us a transport yet?”

            “I am attempting to contact the ship. It is difficult with the massive about of rock between us.”

            Jim can feel his heart beating quickly in his chest. “Shit. Sooner would be much better than later,” he says, his voice raising a little. He can hear the motion of someone just outside the door.

            “Spock to Enterprise. Enterprise, come in.”

            “There you are Mr. Spock, thought we’d lost you.”

            “Mr. Scott, I would appreciate an expedient transport.”

            Jim looks down at his fingers, clutching the handle of the lid on his container: his knuckles white against the clean metal. He can hear the being rounding the corner just as he begins to sense the tingle of transportation.

            “Thank God!” Jim lets out a relieved breath as they materialize on the transporter pad. “That was close, good job, Mr. Scott.”

            But Scotty looks far from relieved – he stares, wide eyed and ashen at the spot next to Jim. Towering over him, hand poised and ready to administer a shot, is the alien from the planet below. “Shit!” Forgoing all decorum, Jim yelps and leaps back from the extended needle. “All personnel vacate the transporter room immediately; I want this room on lock down.”

             Everyone files out quickly, leaving only Jim, Spock, and the being in the room. Her eyes blink stoically and she has yet to attempt injecting anyone. Jim eyes her warily from behind the transport panel.

            “Can you understand me?” he asks, after a moment of tense silence.

            “Hol.”

            “What does that mean?” Jim says, looking to Spock.

            The Vulcan hasn’t moved from the transporter pad, but is watching the alien with no small measure of concern in his eyes. “It means yes, she can understand you.” Spock turns to face her. “Why do you not speak our language, if you can understand us?”

            “V’Rai hol’a rist ash.”

            Spock turns to Jim’s confused face. “She doesn’t want to.”

            “That makes no sense. You don’t want to communicate with us, but you want to enslave us?”

            “V’Ray whit demy. V’Rai hol’a trunt V’Rae.”

            “Jesus, can’t I get a translator, or something?”

            “She said I communicate well. And she doesn’t wish to enslave us.”

            “Then what is that stuff?” Jim points to the barrels. “And what were you doing with the Neanderthals?”

            “V’Rai loke V’Rao glodice.”

            “She offers them transcendence.”

            “That didn’t seem like transcendence to me.”

            “V’Rai loke V’Rae glodice.” She holds out the needle and gestures at Jim. He can’t help but recoil somewhat.

            “I don’t want it,” Jim says, making quick work of her meaning. “That shot you gave my friend is killing him.” He isn’t sure, but it looks like the alien is shocked.

            “Hol’a!”

            “Yes! We’re not the same as those Neanderthals. There’s hundreds of centuries of genetic differences between us. What works for them will not work for us. You’re killing him! We had to come back to find that stuff so that we could try to save him. Even now, it may not work.”

            She looks, by human standards, saddened. “V’Rai low rist demy ash V’Rae.”

            Spock sees Jim’s puzzled glare and quickly translates. “She only wished happiness for you.”

            “Well you went about it the wrong way. You can give me happiness by letting me have what’s in those barrels so that I can save my friend. And by stopping your beacon – don’t call anyone else to your planet. It’s a death trap.”

            “V’Rai rist ash pladeu.”

            “She wishes to help.”

            “No,” Jim says. “Go back to your planet. You’ve helped enough already.”

            Spock steps across the room so that he’s close enough to lean over and whisper in Jim’s ear. “Perhaps we would be wise to take her up on her offer of assistance. We do not know what is in this compound. It is possible that the only cure resides on her planet.”

            “Maybe, but there’s one thing I want to know before I even think about accepting help from her. Why are all of those other beings in tubes?”

            “V’Rao kaliim gratis V’Rai.”

            “They come after her. What do you mean?”

            “Tack ash low unt.”

            “There is only one. I believe only one of them is allowed to be alive and functioning at any time.”

            “Okay…”Jim lets out a slow, steadying breath. “You will go back to your planet, and leave those,” he gestures to the containers, “here. We’ll remain in orbit until we’ve cured my friend. If we need you assistance, we’ll contact you. Got it?”

            “Hol.” Spock and Jim drag the containers, which prove to be remarkably heavy for their size, off of the transporter pad before Jim beams her back down to their last planet side coordinates.

            “That was unexpected,” Jim says, opening the doors so that the crew can re-enter.

            “It seems that not every species is as violent as the human race,” Spock says quietly.

             Once they’ve transported the barrels to the sickbay, Jim hovers anxiously while Dr. M’Benga tests the compound. “The strange thing is, it’s made up of chemical compounds all completely familiar to Earth. I’ll be able to make an antidote for this, no problem.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “Positive. It should only take a few hours. I’ll call you down here when I’m ready to administer it.”

            Jim reluctantly vacates the sickbay and heads up to the bridge, more ready to leave this planet’s orbit than he has been in a long time.

 

* * *

 

            A tentative knock on the door startles Jim so that his foot almost slips off of the counter. “Jim?”

            “Damn it, Spock, I told you I’m fine.”

            “You have been in the bathroom for 16.7 minutes longer than you commonly require when performing your ablutions.”

            “Do you need to pee, or something?” Jim says, hopping on his stable foot to regain his balance.

            “No, I do not require use of the facilities.”

            “Then get off my back! I’ll come out when I’m ready.” Jim is trying not to sound like a petulant child, but this is the third time in (apparently) 16.7 minutes that Spock has deemed it necessary to assure himself of Jim’s continued well being.

            “Jim, I must point out that it is impossible for me to be on your back at this moment as-“

            “You know what I mean. Now let me be.”

            “Of course.”

            Jim grunts and listens to Spock’s feet retreat from the door before he resumes the difficult process of shaving his legs. It’s harder than he expected, having spent a good 10 years shaving his face. But legs and a face are two very different things, and though he hasn’t nicked himself yet, he is having a hard time removing all the hair. He runs his hand up the back of his calf once more and rolls his eyes when he encounters a small patch he’s missed.

            Jim’s never really given much thought to shaving in his female body; after all, Spock had known and loved his (not too) hairy male body, so why should this one be any different? And in the time that they’ve both had to explore this body, Spock has never once complained. But last night while on leave, Bones and Jim went to a strip club. While Jim watched a small, lithe body move on his lap, he remembered how nice it had been to run his hands up and down the soft, smooth skin of a woman’s leg. Spock had been with women before, and Jim began to wonder if Spock wouldn’t like to feel that softness again.

            As Jim finishes looking himself over in the mirror, he decides that even if Spock likes it, he’s not shaving every day like some of his old ‘girlfriends’. It’s way too much work, so it’s going to have to be an occasional thing at best. He drains the sink and wipes the counter down before stepping out of the bathroom. Spock is sitting at the table, looking over their annual reviews (which should have been done yesterday), when Jim comes out. Suddenly feeling a little sheepish, Jim adjusts his underwear and grins.

            “May I inquire as to what took you so much longer than usual?” Spock asks, raising an eyebrow at Jim’s lack of clothing.

            Instead of answering, Jim hastens over and lifts his leg so that his calf can rest on Spock’s lap. “Feel,” he prompts.

            “You have shaved,” Spock says, running his hands up and down the smooth skin. “Why?”

            Jim shrugs his shoulders. “I thought you’d like it. I like it,” he says, struggling to stay upright and tilting a little as he does so. Spock reaches out an arm and grips him around the hips to steady him, bringing him closer in the process. Jim’s leg slides between Spock’s and he almost ends up sitting on him.

            “I appreciate the thought, Jim, but you do not have to shave for me.”

            “Well, I’m not going to every day. That took forever.”

            Spock shakes his head at the hyperbole. “I mean that I find you attractive regardless.”

            “You don’t like it?”

            “It makes no difference to me.”

            “So you do like it?”

            “I feel neither affection nor distaste towards your hairless legs.”

            Jim groans and drops his weight so that he’s sitting with his back to Spock, straddling his leg. He splays his hands on Spock’s knees and bends forward a bit before leaning back so that Spock has to turn his head to avoid getting a face full of dark blond hair. “It took me a long time to do this. I thought, since you’d dated other girls, you might like it.”

            “I have only courted Nyota and you.”

            “She’s the only girl you dated?”

            “Yes. Of course, I have interacted with T’Pring through our bond, but we did not have a courtship as humans do.”

            “Well, I like it,” Jim reiterates, shrugging his shoulders. “I feel all nice and soft.”

            Spock’s chest swells with a deep breath and Jim can feel the restraint of laughter. He turns himself around swiftly so that he’s straddling Spock’s waist and grips the back of the Vulcan’s neck. Jim leans forward and kisses him chastely before sliding off of his lap to stand, trailing his fingers down Spock’s arm and ending with a quick tap on his fingers.

            “I’d better get dressed. Scotty said he needed me in engineering for something.”

            Spock nods and adjusts himself before turning back to the computer. “I will remain here and continue to edit your reviews. Please let me know if my presence is required.”

 

* * *

 

            “Captain Kirk?”

            “What is it?”

            “I’ve received a transmission from Starfleet directing us to change heading for Star Base 12.”

            “Why?” Jim scrubs at face – they’re not going to get much exploring done if they’re called back every few months for meaningless missions.

            “They gave no orders, other than that upon arrival you and Dr. McCoy are to beam down.” Uhura winces and her voice gets quiet, as though she doesn’t want anyone else to hear her. “It’s a medical base, sir.”

            “So the bell finally tolls,” Jim mumbles. “Very well, I guess we have no choice. Change heading for Star Base 12. How long until we get there?”

            Uhura is silent for a moment while the navigator makes a calculation. “At current speed, 5 days.”

            “That’s fine. Maintain current speed and alert Starfleet as to our ETA.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            Jim frowns as McCoy across the table. “This is such shit.” The doctor nods and refills Jim’s glass without prompting. “I had actually let myself start to think maybe they were just gonna let me be. It’s almost been half a year. They were just lulling me into a false sense of confidence.”

            McCoy nods solemnly and swallows half of his glass.

            “I’ve been such an idiot,” Jim says, pounding a fist on the table’s surface. It’s enough to make the glasses rattle and the liquid in them shivers.

            “Now, don’t say that. You’re no idiot. They did it on purpose. Anyone would feel at least somewhat safe after that long a time.”

            Jim throws back the entirety of his glass and winces as he swallows it down. He lets the alcohol settle for a moment, lingering in the feeling of slight distortion. He starts to feel a little warm and pulls vaguely at the collar of his shirt. “I should probably find Spock and tell him,” he says, running a finger over the edge of his glass.

            “Why you always gotta run right off to find him? You’ve got five days to tell him. Stay and chat a while.”

            Jim offers his best friend a crooked smile. “Not feeling jealous of a green blooded hobgoblin, are you Bones?”

            “Never.” Bones looks to his left before grinning back up at Jim.

            “So before Uhura called, you were telling me about those Gorn…”

            “I should have listened, I know, but I felt pretty bad about just leaving her.” Jim lets out a low chuckle and jostles his glass, which is shortly refilled.

            An hour later, feeling far more inebriated than he had upon entering the sickbay, Jim shuffles towards the turbo lift that will take him back to his own quarters. He offered a garbled goodnight to Bones, who is currently passed out on his office desk, and left with the sole intention of going to bed. When the turbo lift opens, Spock is inside, chatting with Lt. Uhura.

            “I’m sorry, I thought he would have told you by now,” she brushes a piece of hair behind her ear.

            “No, Jim has not informed me yet. However, I am sure he was planning to do so at his earliest convenience.”

            They both look up when the person they are waiting for still hasn’t entered the turbo lift. Jim is standing, rather listlessly, halfway through the door so that the lift can’t shut and continue on to its destination.

            “Jim, please enter the lift so that we do not hold up the tunnels.” Spock holds out a hand and gently pulls Jim inside. “Have you been consuming alcohol?” he asks, turning his body surreptitiously away from the Lt. Uhura has the grace to fake her preoccupation with a blank PADD.

            “Just a couple glasses,” Jim says, trying to act more sober than he is. He knows he’s doing a poor job of it when Spock grips his elbow to steady him.

            “I think, perhaps more than a couple.” Spock says. “Lt. Uhura was just informing me of our required course change. I see now why your have been delayed in telling me yourself.”

            Jim pulls back a little. “I don’t have to come report every little thing to you, Spock. You may be my husband, but you’re also my subordinate.”

            Spock nods. “I apologize. I did not intend to insinuate that you were required to inform me.”

            “Oh, look, it’s my stop.” Uhura is ready to leave the lift before the door opens. “Yoga tomorrow morning, Jim?” she asks, a forced lightness to her tone.

            “If I’m not too hung over.” The statement earns Jim a small chuckle before the doors slide shut.

            “I am not upset that you did not tell me, I was merely surprised. I did not intend to commence an argument.”

            “I know,” Jim says, sagging heavily against Spock. “I guess I’m just pretty upset about this whole thing. I can’t believe I’ve got to go. What do you think they’re going to do to me?”

            “I do not know, and even conjecture at this time would be pointless. I am aware that only you and Dr. McCoy are required to transport down, but I would prefer if you allow me to accompany you as well.”

            “Of course, of course I want you there.”

            Spock runs a reassuring hand down Jim’s arm. “I think you would benefit from a good night’s sleep, Jim.”

            “Are you coming to bed with me?” He lets Spock guide him down the corridor to their quarters and enters the room at his prodding.

            “I do not require sleep. But, if you would prefer, I could lie with you for 12 minutes. Then I must go to the lab.”

            Jim grins and shucks his clothing. “I’d like that.”

            It doesn’t take more than five minutes before Jim is asleep and snoring beneath Spock’s extended arm, but the Vulcan decides to stay for a moment longer, feeling the out of place heart beat in Jim’s chest and listening to the man’s steady breaths. The past five months have been long and hard on Jim, and Spock knows now that the struggle isn’t likely to end. He ignores the strong scent of bourbon as he snuffles behind Jim’s ear, pushing golden hair out of his way with a light hand. After 11 minutes and 58 seconds, Spock removes himself from the bed. Other than a small grunt and a hand grasping at the sheets, Jim shows no sign of waking. Spock slips out of the room and listens to the door slide shut before making his way to the turbo lift.

 

* * *

 

           

           The Star Base is small and not overly accommodating to a Starship the size of the Enterprise. The leave rotations have had to be adjusted so that only 50 of the crew members are off ship at any time. Jim’s left it for Uhura to ensure the crew remaining onboard will be properly entertained for the ten days that they’ve been ordered to dock there.

            He’s in his quarters, stuffing pyjama pants into a bag, when his communication screen beeps at him. “Kirk, here.”

            “Jim, it’s good to see you well.” It’s one of the doctors who Jim assumes is working his case. Dr. Mary…something or other. The anxious butterflies in his stomach make him rather uncaring of her proper title.

            “Thank you,” he says, hoping his voice sounds steadier to her than it does to him.

            “Will you be beaming down soon?”

            “Yes,” he says, raising a hand to run over his throat. “I’m just finishing packing my things.”

            “Did you get my list?”

            “Yes, ma’am.”

            She nods. “And you said your First Officer will be coming down as well?”

            “In this capacity, he’ll be serving as my partner, but yes. He is the First Officer of the ship. Is that a problem?”

            “Not at all. I just wanted to ensure we had accommodation enough for everybody.” She sees Jim’s wary shrug. “Captain Kirk, I know this must be nerve wracking for you – you have no clue what’s going on. But please believe me when I say, I want this experience to be as comfortable for you as I can make it. If that means having Commander Spock here, then by all means, he is more than welcome.”

            “Why hasn’t anyone told me what’s going on?”

            “Our research here is of an extremely sensitive matter and highly top secret. We couldn’t risk telling you anything over open channels. But I promise, when you arrive, we will explain every procedure to your full understanding and satisfaction.”

            “And what if I don’t like it?” Jim asks, glancing up as the door opens. Spock and Bones step into the room. “What if I don’t want to do it?”

            “Surely you understand the necessity of everything we’re doing here.” Her smile is placating and it irritates Jim. “It’s so that we have the best chance of returning you to your proper form.”

            Jim frowns. “Sure. We’ll be down in a minute.” He reaches forward to cut off the communication before he has to look at her face for another minute.

            Spock is standing in the doorway with his hands behind his back and Bones is at the desk, hands gripping the surface.

            “Are you prepared?” Spock asks quietly.

            “Yeah, let’s get this over with.” Spock steps forward to grab Jim’s bag, but the man beats him to it. “Thanks, but I can carry my own shit.” Spock doesn’t say anything, just follows Jim out of their quarters. There’s a nervous silence between the three of them as they make their way to the transporter room, and other than a signal for the Transport Lt. to beam them down, nobody says anything until they arrive on the Star Base’s transport pad. The doctor is waiting for them there.

            She holds out a hand which, after it’s ignored by Jim, McCoy shakes. “I’m Dr. McArthur,” she says, reaching over to shake Spock’s hand. “I’ll be handling your case.” Finally, Jim reluctantly takes her hand and gives it a half-hearted shake. “Before we get into any of the medical details, why don’t you let me show you to where you’ll be staying?”

            Jim shifts his duffle bag on his shoulder and follows behind Bones on the way out. “This medical facility is one of the best in Star Fleet – maybe not the best place for your crew to take shore leave, but we certainly are the most well equipped to handle your…particular situation.” She stops at a turbo lift. “Your rooms are on level 3 and the medical laboratories are on level 4. Commissaries and recreation rooms are on level 2, but I’m afraid you won’t have much time to spend there, Captain.”

            “Call me Jim, please.”

            “Of course.” She ushers them into the lift and orders it to level 3. “Your rooms are all equipped with replicators of your own, which you are welcome to use. However, Jim, while you are here, your diet will be strictly regimented, so you won’t get much use out of it.”

            “Great.”

            “You understand the need to adhere to the guidelines set out for you, I’m sure.” There’s a note of warning to her voice and Jim ignores the sick feeling he’s getting.

            “I understand. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

            “Here’s your room, Dr. McCoy.” She keys in a code and the door slides open to reveal a room, slightly larger than the doctor’s quarters on board. There’s a bed in the back corner, a table and – as promised – a replicator. “Nothing fancy, but I’m sure it will do for the duration of your stay. You won’t be spending much time here, anyways. And next door,” she moves them to the next door, and keys in a code, “Is the room you two will be staying in.” Other than a slightly larger bed, it’s no different from McCoy’s room. “You’ve got a shared bathroom, and I think that’s pretty much it.”

            “So what now?” Jim asks, watching as Bones surreptitiously sneaks into his own room, likely to test the firmness of the mattress.

            “You’ve got some time to settle in and then I’ll have my nurse come and collect you. In the labs, we’ll go over the tests we devised and we should be able to start by tonight.”

            Jim nods glumly. “Awesome.”

            After Dr. McArthur has walked away, McCoy pokes his head out of his door. “Try to stay positive,” he says, although he doesn’t sound like he’s doing a very good job of following his own advice. “She seems nice.”

            “I _am_ trying to stay positive,” Jim reels. “I’m just not so great at it.”

            Spock puts a hand on Jim’s shoulder and starts to guide him into their room. “Perhaps you would like some tea,” he asks, turning his back on McCoy. “I will make some, and you can drink it if you want to.” Jim waves lazily at his friend and allows Spock to steer him through the door.

            “Yeah, yeah, I’ll drink some.”

             The labs, too, are reminiscent of the ship. The cleanliness and sterility unnerves Jim somewhat, but they’re currently seated in Dr. McArthur’s office, which is a small, cozy space, separated from the medical facilities by a massive window. Jim is sitting between Spock and Dr. McCoy, trying not to bounce his knees and failing miserably. Spock reaches out to place a light hand on Jim’s thigh and the bouncing immediately stops.

            “Alright,” Dr. McArthur says, looking up from the PADD she's been going over. “It shows here that your last physical was just after the transformation took place?”

            “Yes,” Bones says. Jim wonders if Dr. McArthur notices the defensive tone, too.

            “All of your information looks normal, but the first thing we’ll do is another physical. A lot can change in five months and we don’t know if this body is any different from a ‘normal’ one.” Jim nods. “We’ll perform a regular gynaecological exam, as well. I think that will probably be enough for tonight. After you’ve had a good sleep, tomorrow we’re going to start performing some stress tests on you. Basic ones – to test this body’s stamina.”

            “What sort of basic stress tests?” Jim asks.

            “We’ll have you jog on a treadmill while we monitor your heart, then some light tests while we monitor your brain functions. Of course, the nausea test. We’ll also have to put you through an MRI.”

            “Couldn’t most of this be determined with a bio bed?”

            “I find the use of bio beds doesn’t give me as much, or as accurate, information as these tests. You know they’re still used when we admit students to the academy, Dr. McCoy.”

            “Right, but I didn’t think Jim was here so y’all could determine if he was fit for duty. I did that already.”

            “Of course you have. And that’s not what we’re doing at all. He’s here so that we can help him. This is only the course of action for the first day. After that, we’ll be performing a battery of newly designed tests to attempt to discern the cause of his transformation. But first, I need to ensure that this body is a normally functioning human body.”

            “Well I can attest to the fact that it is,” McCoy says, sounding a little more defensive. Jim is sure Dr. McArthur can’t have missed it this time.

            “Of course you can. But I hope you’ll appreciate my need to examine the facts for myself.”

            “Okay, whatever. First day is all normal stuff. What comes after that?”

            “We have a variety of mental and physical tests to perform on you which will hopefully help us discover the cause of, and in turn how to reverse, your bodily change.”

            “You told me you’d be explaining all of these tests to my full understanding before you performed them.”

            “Of course we will. I’m not performing them yet, am I?”

            Jim frowns. “No, you’re not.”

            “Alright, so we’ll be performing a physical first. Dr. McCoy, you are more than welcome to attend, but Mr. Spock, I’ll need to ask that you absent yourself.” Spock nods, but doesn’t move from his chair.

            “We’ll just be in the room next door,” she points through her window and Jim can see the bio bed being prepped for him. “Jim, you can change into this and then come and join me.” She pushes a button on her desk and the window frosts so that they can’t see through it. “Dr. McCoy, why don’t you come with me?”

            Once they’ve both left the office, Jim rises from his chair. “This is stupid,” he says, unzipping the shoulder of his shirt. “I’ve had plenty of physicals before. I shouldn’t be so nervous.” Spock takes the discarded shirt from Jim and sets it on McArthur’s desk. “Everything’s going to be fine, right?”

            “I see no reason to distrust Dr. McArthur’s promise of a routine physical exam. Also, Dr. McCoy will be present. I believe that should offer you some measure of comfort.” Jim toes out of boots, almost falling over as he does so. He grips onto the desk to steady himself before shimmying out of his pants.

            “Why’d she tell you to leave?”

            “I believe it is her way of adhering to doctor patient confidentiality.”

            “She knows I’m gonna tell you everything anyways.” Jim pulls his underpants off and stuffs them in Spock’s hand before donning the gown.

            “Perhaps she is not aware that you will inform me. Perhaps she is simply following regulations.”

            “Is this done up in the back right?” Spock snaps an unclosed button and then puts his free hand on Jim’s shoulder.

            “It is not stupid to be nervous in the face of the unknown, Jim. It would be ignorant not to feel some fear.” Jim doesn’t turn around, but lifts his hand to ghost over Spock’s.

            “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took me longer to post than the others. Hope you enjoyed it!


	5. The Truth About That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I used sex as a character building technique is this chapter. I'm sorry, please forgive me.

            Jim’s physicals are nothing other than regulation, but they still doesn’t finish until well into the night. It’s past midnight when he slips into the room he’s sharing with Spock, and the Vulcan is sitting up at the desk, reading over something on a data pad. “Hey, I didn’t think you’d still be up,” Jim says, tugging the med gown off.

            “I wished to appraise myself of your well being before I retired.”

            Jim smiles. “I’m fine. I little tired, but fine. Thank you.” He leans over to kiss Spock chastely, but when his partner’s arm comes up to wrap his bicep, Jim lets the kiss deepen. His knees bend a little, bringing him closer to Spock and he drops the med gown to the floor in favour of gripping the back of Spock’s neck with one hand and the desk with the other. After a moment, Jim pulls back, panting slightly. “Where did that come from?” he asks, grinning at Spock’s greenish lips.

            “I do not know. I felt the urge to show affection for you.”

            Jim lets out a quiet hum of laughter. “Do you want to have sex?” he asks suddenly.

            “I heard what you said, but I have trouble believing that I understood the true meaning of your question properly. Please, explain yourself.”

            “I mean it. Do you want to have sex?” It’s a sudden urge that swells up in Jim, one that he didn’t have even when he entered the room. But the want is churning inside of him now, and even though he’s a little apprehensive at the prospect, it has nothing to do with Spock. In the last five months, Jim’s been naked in front of his partner plenty of times – he feels nothing but comfort from Spock.

            “Where is this coming from?”

            “I don’t know,” Jim shrugs his shoulders and grins impishly. “Don’t you want to have sex?”

            “Does allowing strangers to study your genitals arouse you?” Spock asks – in a remarkably serious tone, even for a half Vulcan.

            “What?! No!” Jim lets a burst of shocked laughter. “Not really. I mean, I guess that’s sort of the reason.”

            “You have been this body for 5 months, 3 days and 20 hours. I would, of course, enjoy engaging in intercourse with you, but I would prefer you be sure of your reasons. I would not let any undue harm come to you, physical or mental.”

            “I guess I just feel like…all these other people spent the last hour or so looking and prodding at my nether regions, and you’re my partner…I’d rather have you do it than them, and I still haven’t let you.” Jim feels a strange twist in his gut at the thought – he still isn’t entirely at home in this body, and he probably never will be, but he realizes how strange he’s felt lately, keeping himself from Spock. It isn’t just the sex, the sex is the tiniest part of it, Jim thinks. He’s been naked in front of Spock and let Spock spoon him in bed and give him back massages, but he’s never really felt like this body has connected with his partner. He understands, now, that he’s been longing for that thread between them again.

            Spock tilts his head to the side. “You were ordered to undergo this exam. I do not mistake your compliance with orders as a yearning to be touched.”

            Jim bites his lip for a moment, trying to be sure he phrases his next sentence properly. “That’s not it. I don’t think you’re jealous.”

            “I am not.”

            “I know that. It’s just…all those other people, they were just doing their jobs and I was just doing mine. I know that, but it’s still uncomfortable letting them poke around down there. I haven’t really let you have anything to do with me from the waist down, but I know it wouldn’t be uncomfortable. You would make it feel wonderful and amazing, and I’m not really sure why I’m keeping this,” Jim gestures between them, “apart anymore.” He huffs in frustration at Spock’s slightly sceptical face. “Did that make any sense at all?”

            “It was not logical, if that is what you are asking me.”

            “No, I’m asking if you understand me.”

            “I believe, after having known you for 80 years, I still will not fully comprehend you.”

            Jim grins and shrugs his shoulders. “So, do you want to have sex? I’ve already done half of the work for you.”

            Spock rises from his chair and moves to wrap his arms around Jim’s naked body, pressing his lips to juncture between Jim’s neck and shoulders. “I do not believe undressing you is half of the work. If I did, you would not enjoy sexual congress so thoroughly.”

            Jim can’t help the high, uncharacteristic giggle that escapes when Spock’s lips tickle the skin on his neck. He lifts his hands to snake beneath Spock’s shirt, returning the embrace with skin to skin contact. Jim shuffles Spock backwards until the backs of his thighs bump into the desk. “You’re wearing far too much clothing,” Jim says, leaning back so that he can remove Spock’s blue shirt and undershirt. He dips his head to take a nipple between gentle teeth while Spock busies himself grasping a handful of Jim’s ass, his grip just on the right side of pleasurable pain. Jim rises on his toes to meet Spock’s grip and lifts a hand to occupy the neglected nipple.

            “You are a highly skilled individual,” Spock says, his voice breathy. He cants his hips toward Jim so that he can feel the pressure of an erection against his thigh.

            Jim smiles and pulls back to look at Spock. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

            Spock dips his hand in the cleft of Jim’s ass, bending his wrist so that he can follow the natural curve of Jim’s body. “You should get up on the desk,” Jim says urgently.

            “Why?”

            “I’ve always wanted to fuck on a desk, you know that.”

            “I did not think that now…”

            “Get on the desk,” Jim says, good-naturedly. He undoes Spock’s pants and tugs them off before the Vulcan hoists himself onto the surface. Spock’s erection bobs between them and Jim reaches out to give it a smooth tug before trailing a hand up his own side.

            As much as sex is (and always will be) about pleasing Spock just as thoroughly as Spock pleases him, Jim knows that this solitary experience will be different. Since getting this body, he’s experimented: he knows what it’s like to have a hand or few fingers between his legs, but he hasn’t been as touchy as he knows Spock will be. He still isn’t used to the exploratory feeling of hands running up and down his sensitive rib cage, or the thrumming between his legs. Jim presses his thighs together experimentally, clenches his pelvic floor muscles and closes his eyes at the short burst of arousal that shoots through his abdomen.

            He runs the hand across his own chest, eyes still closed, and lets his thumb drag over one of his own nipples.The action elicits an unexpected moan, and Jim’s eyes flutter open when he feels Spock’s hand encircle his wrist. “I do not have any prophylactics,” Spock says sourly.

            “It’s okay,” Jim murmurs. “I came prepared.”

            He makes a show of crouching down and exposing his upturned ass to Spock, digging around in his duffle bag maybe a little longer than necessary. Finally Jim rises and saunters back to Spock, condom in hand. He presses it to the slightly damp skin on Spock’s lower abdomen and holds his hand flat against the muscle while he leans in for another kiss. He can feel Spock’s erection brushing his hand and stomach while their tongues fight for dominance in an almost violent kiss.

            Jim leans back to give Spock a moment to put the condom on before situating himself over the Vulcan, kneeling on the desk so that he can straddle him.

            “This is an advanced position for the first sexual experience you will have in this body,” Spock says, but his hands, fluttering up and down Jim’s flanks, betray his interest.

            “It’ll be good,” Jim says, jumping a little with surprise when one of Spock’s hands dips between his legs, thumb trailing over his clit.

            He lowers himself steadily onto Spock’s erection and hisses quietly, bowing so that he can rest his forehead against Spock’s.

            “Are you in pain?”

            “No really, just a little discomfort. I think it’ll go away, just give me a second.” One of Spock’s hands is at Jim’s hip, steadying him, but the other traces his back, following up and down the curve of his spine.

            “You vagina is remarkably tight,” Spock says after a fashion, letting out a huff of excited breath.

            Jim nods and rocks his hips forward once, experimentally, earning himself a low groan of satisfaction. “That feels so. Fucking. Good,” he says, perhaps a little louder than necessary. The hand on Jim’s back moves to grip his ass once more, although Spock does nothing to alter the rhythm or pace. In the stark light of the room, it’s easy for Spock to see every miniscule change that has been made in Jim's facial structure. He lifts his hand from Jim’s hip to trail over his cheekbone but lets out a startled (and pleased) groan when Jim drops his hips down unexpectedly. Jim rolls forward hard, trying to create some friction against his clit, but he can’t seem to find the right position. Finally, grunting in frustration, he grips Spock’s hand and guides it between them. “There,” he gasps, when Spock draws a crooked finger over the nub.

            They manage to find a steady motion after a moment, “Oh God, Spock, that feels really, really good. Keep doing that! Keep doing-“

            “I will continue to perform manual stimulation,” Spock says, in what Jim is sure he thinks is a reassuring tone.

            The motion of their bodies jostle Spock’s hand between them, but he remains undeterred, returning to the sensitive spot whenever his hand is dislodged. Jim’s legs are starting to cramp up under him and the desk is slippery with sweat, Spock’s ass sliding off the surface. “Maybe we should move this to the bed?” Jim asks.

            Spock doesn’t answer, but swiftly rises from the desk, taking Jim with him as easily as if he were a doll. Jim lets out a startled yelp but wraps his legs around Spock before he’s dropped onto the bed. Spock hovers over him for a moment, looking into his eyes, before reaching between them to re-enter Jim. “Guh…” Jim groans, hands moving to grip at Spock’s back. It’s hard to find purchase there, his fingers slipping over damp muscle, but he manages to hold on, lifting his chest so that his breasts brush Spock’s chest with their actions.

            “Do you like it?” Jim asks, not really expecting an answer. “Do you like it?”

            There’s a banging on the bathroom door. “If he didn’t like it, he wouldn’t keep doing it! Now shut up! Some of us are trying to sleep!”

            Jim lets his head fall back with laugh and Spock continues as though nothing has happened, driving into Jim with a more rapid pace. There’s a darkness in his brown eyes, his lids heavy to the point of almost being shut, and he tilts his body to the side with a guttural moan. Jim feels Spock’s abdominal muscles tighten against his own and then his entire body tenses. There’s a few seconds of remote silence around them and then Spock drops heavily next to Jim on the bed.

            Spock’s breathing is harsh, but Jim rolls over, hand on his partner’s chest, to kiss him anyways. It takes a few minutes, but finally Spock’s eyes blink open. “Did you achieve orgasm?” he asks – as though they have just completed a transaction.

            Jim smiles as he shakes his head. “No, but I’ve been told that’s not what it’s all about. It did feel great though, as Dr. McCoy can attest.”

            Spock levers himself off of the bed to dispose of the condom. “Did you find your initial experience of sexual intercourse in this body satisfactory?”

            Jim moves so that he’s lying on the bed properly and adjusts a pillow beneath his head. “I think so.” Spock settles next to him, leaving a small space between their overheated bodies. He still settles a hand on Jim’s stomach, though. “Did you?”

            “I have never found sexual activities of any kind with you to be dissatisfactory.”

            Jim lifts a hand to cover Spock’s and orders the lights off.

* * *

            Jim’s still groggy when Spock shakes him awake the next morning. “What time is it?” he grumbles, shuffling so that he can stuff his head under the pillow. Spock’s voice is quiet and the lights are dim, but Jim still isn’t ready to wake up.

            “It is 0600. Dr. McArthur has requested your presence in the commissary for breakfast at 0645.”

            “Fine. Wake me up in 15 minutes.”

            “Dr. McCoy is asking to speak with you.”

            “Ugh…” Jim rolls over and winces at the lights. “How do I look?” he asks.

            “You look as though you have just woken up,” Spock says from where he’s sitting at the edge of the mattress.

            Jim pushes the covers away and clambers out of bed, rummaging through his bag for something to wear. “Why is it necessary to start this shit so early? I’ve got to be jogging and puking all day, you’d think they’d at least let me sleep for a while.” He tugs on a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. “Where’s Bones?”

            “He is waiting outside,” Spock says. “Would you be averse to my accompanying you to breakfast?”

            “Course not.”

            The door slides open and a disgruntled looking Bones is on the other side. “Some of us like to sleep at night, you know,” he growls, side eyeing Jim.

            “Sorry, doctor. I have to get my workout somehow.” Jim leers at Spock who is pointedly staring at the turbo lift at the end of the hall.

            “I swear to God, you will never change.”

            “What did you want you talk to me about that couldn’t wait until breakfast?”

            “How do you feel about this Dr. McArthur?”

            “Fine, I guess.” Jim shrugs his shoulders. “She hasn’t given me any reason to not feel fine. Why?”

            “I dunno,” Bones says, crossing his arms. “Something about her just doesn’t feel right. Like there’s a maniacal sociopath lurking underneath the surface.”

            “Generally speaking, sociopaths are not described as maniacs, Doctor,” Spock says.

            “Thanks, I know that.”

            “Your conversation suggests otherwise.”

            “Everyone doesn’t take everything literally all of the time.”

            “Perhaps if they did, the number of misunderstood conversations would be drastically reduced.”

            “Alright! A cat fight.”

            “There are no cats present.”

            “Look, I don’t know about this Dr. McArthur, but until she gives me a reason to distrust her, I’m not going to. Besides, you’re going to be there the whole time, right?”

            Bones shrugs. “I guess so.”

            “So you woke me up early just to ask me that?”

            “It’s not my fault you kept yourself up all night.” Jim grins and pushes the button for the lift.

            As promised, Dr. McArthur is waiting for the trio at a small, secluded table in the commissary. Jim is surprised to find the place rather busy (for six in the morning) with ten or fifteen people milling about, breakfast trays in hand. Granted, all of the people there still look as though they’re half asleep, but they’re present. There’s a tray of food on the table next to McArthur and Jim rightly assumes it’s his “closely monitored breakfast”. As they get closer to her table, Jim realizes it’s little more than a fruit salad and a miniscule cup of yogurt.

            “Not much of a breakfast,” he says, seating himself. Spock and Bones wander off to the buffet line to get their own breakfast.

            “I didn’t want to give you too much, you’ll probably regurgitate all of it during the nausea test anyways.”

            Grimacing, Jim spears a slice of apple and pops it into his mouth. “What’s the point in eating if I’m just going to sick it all up?” he asks, only half done the apple slice.

            “It’s quite painful to vomit nothing. You’ll be more…comfortable with something in your stomach.”

            “I’ve never been comfortable when vomiting.” He rolls a grape across the plate with his fork. “Is this the kind of breakfast I’m going to have every morning?”

            “No,” she says, taking a sip from her mug. Jim can smell the coffee from his seat and suddenly gets a strong craving for caffeine. “Your meals will be more substantial after today, I promise.” McArthur spots him eyeing her coffee and shakes her head. “Sorry, no caffeine either. It’ll up your heart rate and mess with the stress tests.”

            “I know.”

            Spock and Bones are making their way over to the table, breakfast trays in hand. McArthur leans over so that she’s close enough to Jim to whisper. “Look, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but there’s a camera in your room.”

            Jim glares at her.

            “It’s part of our study on you. You’re not supposed to be aware of it – they wanted to see if you acted any differently when you thought you weren’t being watched. I was against it from the beginning – it’s a terrible breach of privacy. But our director insisted on it. I just thought, if you knew, there might not being any repeats of last night.”

            Jim feels his cheeks color a little, but composes himself before his friends sit down. He nods his thanks and shoves a spoonful of yogurt in his mouth.

            “Did we miss anything good?” McCoy asks, taking a slow drink of his coffee.

            “Not really, just talking about regurgitation.”

            Spock raises an eyebrow. “I was under the impression that, according to human customs, conversations regarding vomit were inappropriate when consuming food.” Jim can’t stop his quiet chuckle.

 

            The stress test is nothing out of the ordinary for Jim. He has had to perform one every other year in order to maintain his Starfleet status. He jogs until he thinks he can’t jog anymore, and then he pushes himself just a little further. McCoy, Spock and McArthur watch from an adjoining room through a pane of glass, along with three other people – likely interns or assistants. Jim can feel sweat running down his face and neck, soaking through the fabric of his shirt. His heart is beating a heavy rhythm beneath his chest and his breaths are starting to come in shorter bursts.

           It’s the first time since he’s had this body that he’s really noticed the difference with regards to his fitness level. While he can run faster, his stamina is down and he finds his strides aren’t as long or as forceful as before. He starts to feel like he’s over heating far before he knows he would if he were still in his male body. Eventually he hears McArthur tell him he can stop, and he slows to a walk to cool down, listening to the insistent thump of his heart beat in his ears.

          The nausea test doesn’t last long – after two minutes of enduring the tilting and turning of the chair, Jim is unable to control his body and vomits. The mess spills down his front before the chair tilts once more and he manages to get some on his face. After McArthur turns the chair off, Jim accepts a towel and mops what he can off of his face, frowning. “I used to be able to go at least six minutes in that thing.”

            “Your physiology has changed completely,” McArthur says. “We’re still figuring out how. Why don’t you go clean yourself up and rest for a bit? Meet me in the commissary at 1330.”

            Jim does feel exhausted. It’s only been three and half hours, but his scant breakfast and demanding tests have left him weary. The journey back to their rooms feels longer than it should, probably because Jim is stinking up the elevator and trying not to touch anything. As soon as he and Spock enter their room, Jim hastens to the bathroom and strips off his clothing. Spock follows him and retrieves his soiled garments from the floor.

            “I was going to get those later, you know. I just wanted to shower off, first.” He has to speak loudly to be heard over the rush of water.

            Spock opens the shower door so that they can converse more easily. “It is of no matter. I do not mind.”

            “McArthur told me there are cameras in our room – do you think they put them in here?”

            Spock glances around the bathroom. “If this bathroom were not also being used by Dr. McCoy, I would not ignore the possibility. But I believe that recording him would be a baseless breach of his privacy.”

            Jim snorts and squeezes some shampoo into his palm. “It’s never stopped them before.”

            “Never the less, I do not think that they would put visual monitoring devices in the bathroom.”

            “Either come in and join me or shut the door. You’re letting water get all over the floor.”

            Spock steps back and closes the door – his rebuttal can barely be heard as he leaves the bathroom. “If you did not insist so illogically on taking water showers, it would not be an issue.”

* * *

 

            Even across the room, Jim can see his lunch sitting on the table next to Dr. McArthur. This meal looks far more promising than breakfast – more plates with larger portions. Spock and McCoy leave him to get their own food and he sits down next to McArthur with an appreciative glance. “This looks way better. I was worried you guys were going to test the rate of starvation in my body, or something.”

            She shoots Jim a strange look and shakes her head. “No. Like I said, I didn’t want anything too heavy before your tests. But all we have scheduled for today is an MRI and a simple bone density test. Tonight, you can eat whatever you want for dinner. And, since I don’t have anything scheduled for you, I thought you and your friends might want to check out the recreation floor. Do something relaxing. But don’t stay up so late again.” She smiles coyly at him and drops the conversation when Bones and Spock sit down with them.

            “The doctor has given me free reign to do what I want tonight. What do you want to do?” Jim asks McCoy. Spock is currently studying his salad with a stern face.

            “I didn’t give you free reign. Don’t leave the medical center,” she cautions him.

            “Yeah, yeah,” Jim sighs.

            “Do you have any racquetball courts?” Bones asks. “I still have to whoop his ass.” McArthur nods.

            “That would be ideal,” Spock says. “I need to return to the Enterprise for a few hours to check on the ship’s crew and status. I will go while you are otherwise engaged.”

            “You don’t want to play?” Jim asks. “I’m sure if Bones had a partner, he wouldn’t lose by such a massive margin.”

            McCoy grunts. “I don’t need a partner.”

            “I have never played racquetball,” Spock says, finally spearing a piece of lettuce with his fork. “And I do not believe I will begin today.” 

* * *

 

            The next morning, 0600 still comes earlier than Jim would like, but the long day of exercise had meant that he was asleep well before midnight. Spock, who still hadn’t returned by the time Jim passed out, is in bed, sleeping under Jim’s outstretched and awkwardly turned arm. Jim was sleeping on his stomach, face down in a pillow and tilts his head slightly so that he can look at the back of Spock’s head. “Good morning.” Jim’s voice is half muffled by the pillow that his face is still mashed into.

            “Is it?” Spock asks, turning to look at Jim. “I apologize for the lateness of my return last night.”

            “Not a problem. Is everything okay on the ship? What held you up?”

            “Everything is fine. I received a transmission from my father and decided to reply to it, as I assumed you and Dr. McCoy would be playing your game for some time.”

            “We went for three games – he was determined to beat me.”

            “Did he?”

            “He won the last game, but that’s totally because I was exhausted. He didn’t puke all over himself yesterday.”

            “No, he did not.”

            Jim twists onto his side so that he can look more fully at Spock – who’s always the most endearing in the morning when he’s unkempt and his most human. He tilts forward and presses a kiss to the Vulcan’s nose.

            “Thank you,” Spock says after a beat.

            “You’re welcome. Are we supposed to meet Dr. McArthur at 0645?”

            “Yes. She sent a communication last night which I reviewed upon my return. Today, they are running a psychological evaluation on you.”

            “I’ve already had one,” Jim says, burrowing into the heat of the covers, reaching out to pull Spock closer to him.

            Spock shuffles over so that most of their bodies are touching. His arms rest against Jim’s back. “I do not believe this is the same process. She implied that they will be using a tool similar to the Klingon mind sifter – although she insisted that it is far less excruciating.”

            “Well that’s a comfort – as least when they dig around in my brain I won’t feel like I’m dying. Will this affect our bond at all?”

            “I do not think so. You and I have not melded in the past three days and I will shield myself while you are undergoing the test.”

            Jim huffs and crushes their bodies even closer together, earning him a very undignified grunt from Spock. “How many more days before we get to leave this place? I’m tired of this already.”

            Spock’s hands are minutely cooler than the skin of Jim’s back as they trace patterns over his skin. “We must remain here for another 7.89 days. Then we may leave.”

           The psychological test ends up being completely different than Jim expected. He’s to be injected with a sedative and then a machine, which will follow his brain patterns, is supposed to trace his mind state through the last seven months, giving the scientists ample material with which to compare the changes of his thoughts. “Wouldn’t a light test be better?” Jim asks, watching apprehensively as one of the nurses straps his arms and legs to the bed.

            “A light test isn’t as comprehensive. It suffices while on board the ship, but this is great way to see if your psychological patterns have been affected by your physiological change.” Dr. McArthur pulls on one of Jim’s restraints to test it. “Besides, like I told you before, the more we understand about the changes you’ve undergone, the more likely we will be able to reverse them.”

            “Am I going to be aware of this while it’s happening?”

            McArthur frowns. “I don’t believe so. This test has had different effects on many of the patients who have taken it. Some people have relived all of the memories, other people claim they only see flashes of their memories, or select ones. It’s really just a record of your thought process and synapses movement during the last seven months – the memories are only “relived” because that’s how we track your brain movement. We won’t see exactly what you see.”

            “And what’s with the restraints?” Bones asks.

            “Some people have violent physical reactions to the test – involuntary convulsions, vomiting, slight vision loss.” She reaches over to a table and picks up a plastic mouth piece. “We’ll put this in to make sure you don’t bite your tongue.” Jim frowns but opens his mouth and lets her pop the blue plastic in. “We’re going to start in a moment. Are you ready?”

            Jim, who is not prepared in any sense of the word, nods shakily at her. Another nurse approaches him and turns Jim’s head to the side. There’s a sharp, piercing sensation at the back of his neck and the room begins to blur immediately. Jim’s breath comes out heavy and panicked through his nose, he feels like he can’t control any singular part of his body. His heart rate speeds up and then slows down and he blinks before darkness overtakes him.

           

            _“Jim, I have never engaged in this game. I do not understand the purpose.”_

_“It’s gonna be fun, come on.”_

_“Why can we not just disrobe and engage in intercourse as we generally do?”_

_“Because…” Jim frowns. “Because the anticipation is part of the fun. I can’t believe you’re actually going to do it.” Jim settles at the table across from Spock, watching the Vulcan set up the chess board. “I’ve been begging you to play strip chess for years.”_

_“My hope is that now that I have, you will cease insisting that we do so.”_

_“In your dreams.”_

_McCoy looks disturbed when Jim tells him about the ensign who is now sporting four arms. “The shit you get into, Jim. I don’t know about you, kid.”_

_“I told him not to eat that apple. Can you fix him or not?”_

_“Of course I can fix him.”_

_Uhura looks angry, but Jim’s pretty sure that’s just because she always looks at least a little angry when he’s around._

_“Yes, Jim. That is remarkably pleasing.”_

_“I know it is,” Jim turns his wrist and pushes his fingers slightly further into Spock. “You don’t have to tell me.” He grins and wiggles his eyebrows, trailing his free hand tantalizingly over Spock’s lower abdomen. “God, I want to fuck you so bad.”_

_“Then do so. I am sufficiently prepared.”_

_“Are you sure?”_

_“Jim, it is not as though this is our first time.”_

_“It’s been a while.”_

_“I am ready.”_

_Jim lets out a low groan of a relief._

_“Seriously, it’s good. Try it – you’ll like it.”_

_“You know that I do not enjoy ice cream as much as humans appear to.”_

_“But this is a_ sundae _. It has a banana and strawberries and nuts and_ chocolate _. They’re delicious. Come on, we’ll share.”_

_Jim ends up eating most of it, but Spock enjoys the chocolate ice cream, at least._

_Jim pulls on his shirt after getting out of the shower and runs his hands over his love bitten torso. He smiles at his own reflection in the mirror._

_Jim pulls on his shirt after getting out of the shower and gasps when he accidentally touches his abdomen. He grimaces at his own reflection in the mirror._

_The room is dark when Spock lets himself in. Jim pretends to be asleep and ignores the hands roaming over his unfamiliar body._

_There’s a growing frustration as Jim tries on a third bra. “This is ridiculous! I was measured to be sure these would fit.”_

_“Women’s undergarments are finicky things, Captain. The quartermaster smiles ruefully._

_Sulu laughs and punches Chekov in the arm. “No one could beat Spock at poker.” Jim has._

_“What do you think about me growing out my hair?” Jim asks Spock. It’s already longer than he’s ever let it grow and he can’t decide whether to cut it or not._

_“I would be amenable to such a decision.”_

          The rush of memories swirls in Jim’s mind. Some are expanded and last longer than others, some fly by in a speedy haze of emotions. It feels like it takes mere moments, but when Jim finally regains consciousness, it’s clear that the test took a while. He’s in another room, on a softer bed, unrestrained. His head is aching and his body is sorer than it was yesterday. The room is dimly lit, but he can see the silhouette of person sitting next to him when he turns his head. “Spock?”

          “No, it’s me,” Bones’ voice sounds more hoarse than usual when he reaches out press a palm to Jim’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

          “Like shit.”

          “McArthur said the test was pretty hard on you.”

          “What happened?” Jim’s throat feels raw and he coughs twice. McCoy doesn’t answer right away but gets Jim some water and watches apprehensively while he swallows it down.

           “After you passed out, they hooked this machine up to your head. I’ve never even heard of one. It looked like some medieval torture device, but they didn’t screw anything into your skull, so I let ‘em do it. Everything was fine at first – you just looked like you were experiencing REM sleep. But after about an hour, you started having convulsions, like she said you might. You were _screaming_.”

            “That’s why my throat is so sore.”

            Jim can see the doctor nod. “I told her she had to stop, but she said you wouldn’t be in pain for long. She was right, after about 20 minutes, it all went back to normal. Other than that episode, you had a couple small spasms. That’s it. It took about four hours and then we brought you here to rest. That was two hours ago.”

            “Where’s Spock?” Jim asks, hoping McCoy doesn’t feel like he isn’t wanted.

            “He’s been with you almost this whole time. Didn’t want to leave you, in case you woke up. But I finally convinced him to go and get you a change of clothes. He should be back right away.”

            “I didn’t throw up, did I?” Jim asks.

            “No, you were just sweating pretty profusely. I guess he figured you might like to wear something that didn’t stink for the rest of the day.” Jim nods and there’s a cautious silence between them for a few moments. “So what was it like?” Bones finally asks, his voice quiet.

            “It was weird. Some memories were so vivid and real, it was like I was reliving them. Other ones were just quick flashes. I hope she got what she wanted,” Jim says, stretching his taut muscles. “I do not want to do that again.”

            The door to the room opens and Spock lets himself in. “Jim, you are awake. Are you well?”

            “I’m fine,” he says, scooting back to sit up in his bed. “Are you okay?”

            “I did not have to undergo a rigorous mind probe,” Spock says. He sounds a little peeved. “I am fine also.” He lays Jim’s change of clothes on the bed. “I did not enjoy seeing you experience the psychological test, however.”

            “None of us did.”

* * *

            They’ve been on the medical base for nine days now, and though Jim cannot say he’s thoroughly enjoyed their stay, he can say that it wasn’t as horrid as he thought it might be. Today, they’ll find out what the science base discovered, if anything, about his particular, abnormal body transformation. Jim’s trying not to fidget while they wait in McArthur’s office, but he feels almost as nervous as he did their first day there. Next to him, Spock is being intentionally stony and on his other side, Bones looks mildly distressed. They’ve been waiting for McArthur for about fifteen minutes, but to Jim it feels like far longer. The tests he’s undergone have been strange, but their unfamiliarity has given Jim strong hope. If it’s the first time someone’s trying it, it’s the first time it might work. His nerves are distracting and he grips Spock’s wrist to ground himself. The Vulcan curls his hand up, pressing a thumb to Jim’s hand.

            When the door of the office opens, both Jim and McCoy turn to watch McArthur enter. Spock continues to look sternly at the wall in front of him. McArthur has a PADD in her hands and a frown on her face when she seats herself behind the desk. She looks at all three of them in turn before her gaze settles on Jim. “I may as well just come out with it.” Jim feels his brow furrowing and his grip on Spock’s wrist tightens. “I wish I had better news for you, Jim. But the truth is, I’ve had my entire team comb through the data over and over again, and none of us can find any evidence of what caused this change in you. You have a perfectly normal, healthy female body.” She sighs and turns on the PADD. “All your tests returned nominal results – all your psychological exams were consistent with your personality and thought patterns from before the change.” She looks up and sighs, dragging a hand over her face. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be able to find a way to change you back.”

            Jim stares at her for a moment. His insides feel as though they have suddenly gone very still: stopped working. “No evidence?” he finally asks.

            She shakes her head slowly. “Of course, I’m going to forward all of our data to HQ and let them study it as well. They may come up with something I’ve missed. This isn’t the end of the road, Jim, it’s only the beginning. But I’ve done every test I could think of. I’d like to tell you this is the last time you’ll be ordered to report for tests, and it might be, but I can’t make any promises.”

            Jim feels a sick smile forming on his face. “Yeah, of course. Thanks for…everything. I appreciate your effort.” It’s difficult to swallow when your body has stopped functioning.

            “If I think of anything else, I’ll be sure to contact you immediately.”

            Jim senses Spock rising beside him, and through a humming noise he can hear McCoy talking to Dr. McArthur. Spock is helping him stand, guiding him out of the room. There’s a rushing noise somewhere. Spock is guiding Jim to the transport room, positioning him on the transport pad. They’re energizing and then they’re on the Enterprise again. There’s a Lt. on the transport controls and he’s hurrying out of he room for some reason. Jim feels himself falling to floor and he realises that he’s been crying this whole time.

            “Jim, Jim,” Spock’s hands are ghosting over him, touching him lightly everywhere. His mouth is close to Jim’s ear, pressing breath to his skin. “Jim, please.”

            His hearing is starting to return, his focus snapping him back to reality. He can hear McCoy shifting anxiously somewhere behind them. Jim sits up and wipes his face dry, his chest heaving with an empty weight. “I’m never going to be able to go back,” he finally says, choking on the words. McCoy looks at him despairingly but doesn’t say anything.

            “You do not know that,” Spock says.

            “Be logical. It’s been months. Starfleet’s had their best people on this.” Jim takes a moment to let out a deep breath and hugs his knees to his chest. “McArthur was really my last hope, as little as I wanted to go to her.”

            “I am being logical,” Spock almost sounds offended by the accusation. “McArthur’s team was a small one. There were only five other people in addition to her. By forwarding your test results to Starfleet, she is ensuring that many more people will have the opportunity to try to solve this dilemma. Please do not give up.”

            Jim snorts and rises shakily off of the floor. “I’m going to lie down. Let me know when everyone’s back from shore leave.” He takes his bag from McCoy’s outstretched hand and straightens before leaving the room.

            On the walk to his room, he manages to regain some of his composure. In all honesty, he’s surprised he was so upset at McArthur’s revelation. He’s not overly happy in this body – it’s not his and he feels wrong, but it’s not like he _can’t stand_ this body; there are things he’s learning to like and enjoy about it. There are parts that he already loves. But he still does, and probably always will, miss and want his original form back.

            Though his chest is still aching with disappointment when he enters his quarters, Jim sighs and tries to let his tension go. As he’s stripping off his t-shirt, the door slides open.

            “Jim. Are you feeling better?”           

            “Yeah. Sorry about that ridiculous display of emotion.”

            “It was not ridiculous. It was understandable, from a human, after the events of the past ten days.” Spock reaches out to grip Jim’s shoulders, pulls their bodies close to each other and dips his head to press a closed mouth kiss to the skin between Jim’s neck and shoulder. “I think you handled the experience well.” Jim lifts his hands to clasp them behind Spock’s head, touching their foreheads together for a moment.

            “Coming from a Vulcan, that’s something.”

            Spock nods and runs a hand down Jim’s side to settle on his hip. “Watching you conduct yourself with decorum and dignity throughout the entire process drew me to you more than I can recall in the recent past. I found my attraction to you renewed in a fashion similar to when we first began courting each other.” Jim tilts his head so that their lips can touch while Spock is talking. He breathes in his partner’s words. He can feel the strain of the day receding as Spock situates one of his legs between Jim’s. “I tried not to, but I felt pride as I observed your interactions with Dr. McArthur and her assistants.”

            Jim can’t help canting his hips up and towards Spock. “Only you would make illogical emotions sexy,” he say, half chuckling. He pulls the fabric of Spock’s shirt into a loose fist and then leans back when Spock hands run over his hips, pushing his pants down.

            “I do not think so.” Spock raises his head to nibble at Jim’s ear and inhales. His hands start to roam over Jim’s back once more as he nudges him towards the bed. “You are also remarkably adept at arousing me with the assistance of emotions.” He kneels on the floor between Jim’s spread legs, hands running up and down his thighs. He bends his head so that he is hovering just above Jim’s pubis and inhales once before offering Jim a quirk of his lip. He licks at the tender flesh on the inside of Jim’s thigh, and Jim lets out a shaky moan, curling his fingers in Spock’s hair.

            It’s hard to push his hips up off the bed with his legs dangling over the side, but it’s not for want of trying. Spock is driving him mad, licking and nipping all around his vagina, teasing him with tapping fingers and a firm hand that holds him down. Finally, Jim half sits up, his abdominal muscles protesting. “Jesus Christ, Spock, hurry the fuck up. I’m dying here.”

            Spock rubs the side of his face against Jim’s thigh once more before finally using a hand to part his folds. He drags his thumb over Jim’s clit, drawing out a long, trembling moan. Jim drops back onto the mattress with a thump and groans as Spock inserts one finger, still letting his thumb press against his clit. “Fuck,” Jim says, lifting his leg to wrap around Spock’s body so that his heel taps on Spock’s ass.

            “Indeed,” Spock agrees, removing his hand and pressing his flat tongue to Jim’s center. He licks once before pulling back and blowing gently on the warm flesh. He can feel Jim’s legs shaking with the effort of staying open on either side of his body.

            “Come on,” Jim groans, his fist tightening a little in Spock’s hair.

            Spock dips once more, letting his lips form a vacuum over Jim’s clit, his tongue quickly pressing at the sensitivity there. He pushes two fingers into his vagina, the curl of his fist pushing lightly against Jim’s perineum. Both of Jim’s feet are pushing against Spock’s ass now, his body taut with pleasure as Spock’s hand and mouth form a punishing rhythm.

            Jim’s trying to form some sort of coherent speech, but he’s unable to mutter anything other than moans and short, aborted sounds as Spock continues. “Right, huh, ri-yes, yes.” Jim’s trying to give some direction, but Spock seems to know what he’s doing in the end, and Jim’s words aren’t coming out anyways. Jim twists his legs, trying not to jostle Spock too much and arches his back up, gripping one of his own breasts in a hand. His breath is coming in clipped bursts and he’s feels a fluttering of arousal in his stomach.

            After a couple minutes, his arousal stagnates. Jim reaches down with his free hand to grip Spock’s face. “Spock, Spock, stop,” he manages to breathe out. Spock does stop, but doesn’t remove his hand, looking up at Jim from between his legs. The Vulcan’s lips are green and slightly swollen and his hair is mussed from Jim’s hand – it’s difficult not to smile at him. “Come on,” he says, gesturing for Spock to get up. “Let’s do something else.”

            Spock removes his hand and wipes it on the sheet before crawling up so that he hovers over Jim. “Very well,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss Jim on the lips. He pulls back and stands at the end of the bed for a moment.

            “What are you doing? Where are you going?” Spock is turning towards the door and for a moment, Jim is worried that Spock is under the impression Jim meant he didn’t want to have sex at all.

            “I was going to get a prophylactic, unless you do not wish to engage in further sexual relations,” Spock says, even though he’s already unzipping Jim’s bag.

            “Of course I do.” Spock rifles through the bag for a moment until he finds what he’s looking for and then rises, quickly undressing himself. He watches Jim on the bed, prostrate and half smiling at Spock as he rips the packet open. The Vulcan stands where he is for a moment, naked and erect. Impatient, Jim runs a hand over his stomach and tries to make himself look like Spock should _come hither_.

            “Do you remember that ‘trick’ you have previously performed?” Spock finally asks, cheeks turning a little green. Spock’s said he doesn’t get embarrassed, but Jim’s pretty sure that the Spock standing in front of him is at least a little embarrassed.

            “You mean when I put the condom on with my mouth?” Jim asks. He’s never told Spock he practised that on a zucchini when he was a teenager.

            “Yes,” Spock says, stepping closer and holding out the condom. “Do you think you could perform it still?” His voice is a little higher than usual and Jim can feel quick puffs of breath on his face.

            “Sure, I can try.” So Jim situates the condom on the tip of Spock’s penis and finishes rolling it down with an open mouth, earning himself a grunt of relief and a curled hand on his shoulder. He pushes Spock back on the bed and straddles him, sliding down onto his erection. Slowly, he rolls his hips back and forth, biting his lip when Spock reaches up and half cups a breast, twisting the nipple gently.

            “I won’t last long now,” Jim says. He’s already a little raw from Spock’s earlier ministrations and his body is aching for release. Spock nods and sits up, taking Jim’s nipple in his mouth, flicking his tongue over the peaking flesh. “Harder,” Jim encourages Spock and lets out an appreciative groan when tentative teeth nip at his flesh. “Come on,” he says, nails dragging over Spock’s back. “They’re no more sensitive than my old nipples.”

            Spock seems encouraged by that and bites harder, his fist pushing against Jim’s lower back to gain some leverage. Jim groans happily before pumping himself up and down on Spock a few times. He can feel his body beginning to shake and tense with an orgasm, his motions becoming sporadic and senseless. Spock forgoes Jim’s abused nipples and falls onto his back, gripping Jim’s hips so that he can control their movement. Jim grunts, his body clenching around Spock’s erection. “Oh God, okay…” His hands flare out on Spock’s chest, his body rocking with abandon.

            It takes a moment for his orgasm to release him and he’s able to move himself with some sort of bodily command once more. “You almost there?” he asks, dipping to lick the tip of Spock’s ear. Spock shakes his head, but lifts a hand to press his fingers to Jim’s lips. He pushes them in slowly, pressing the pads against Jim’s teeth as they slide into his mouth.

            “Suck,” he instructs, lifting his body to push himself further into Jim. Jim hollows his cheeks and watches Spock’s eyelids flutter shut at the sensation. He swipes his tongue over the fingers in his mouth and Spock bucks, gripping Jim’s hip with his unoccupied hand, shuddering and moaning. Jim finally lets himself collapse on Spock, before rolling to the side so that he can pull out.

            Spock looks at Jim for a moment, his mouth opening and closing slightly as though he has something he’s afraid to say. "It will be okay,” he finally murmurs, before getting out of the bed.

            Jim isn’t sure if Spock’s right or even if he's being honest, but he shuts his eyes and tries to believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this has certainly been fun! This was far longer than I expected it to be and I hope everyone who read it enjoyed it. Thank you so much! :)


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